


Stop There, and Let Me Correct It

by Asterekmess (Livinginfictions)



Series: A New Perspective [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bad Friend Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Canon Compliant, Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Minor Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Missing Scene, POV Derek Hale, POV Stiles Stilinski, Past Kate Argent/Derek Hale, Season/Series 01, Stiles Stilinski is Part of the Hale Pack, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 04:07:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 85,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22009723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Livinginfictions/pseuds/Asterekmess
Summary: When Stiles' late night stroll with his best friend ends in said friend being turned in a howling creature of the night, he does his best to cope with his now batshit crazy life.-The first installation in a series of episode-by-episode rewrites of Teen Wolf from Stiles' & Derek's perspective, including missing scenes as I imagine they might've been, and a few dialogue changes. Canon compliant for Season 1, but later seasons will be Canon Divergent.
Relationships: Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski & Stiles Stilinski
Series: A New Perspective [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1584292
Comments: 379
Kudos: 277





	1. Episode 1

**Author's Note:**

> General Notes;  
> 1\. A New Chapter will be posted every Saturday until this work is finished.  
> 2\. Please pay attention to the tags! I will be updating them as I post chapters in the future, and there may be some things that come up that you want to avoid. I will also tag more sensitive things within the Beginning author's notes, so please check there as well for possible trigger warnings.  
> 3\. The use of a single hyphen is my indicator of a changing day.  
> 4\. The use of an Em dash is my indicator of a change in perspective.  
> 5\. A basic fact needed for understanding this rewrite is that within TW's universe, the lunar cycle is 31 days, not 30.  
> Please feel free to visit me on either my main [tumblr](https://livinginfictions.tumblr.com/) or my Teen Wolf specific [tumblr](https://asterekmess.tumblr.com/). I'm happy to answer questions or comments from you guys on there, and I'll be posting reminders each week about the new chapters going up!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, and welcome to the most outrageously ambitious writing project of my life.  
> First thing's first. This story is pre-written, so I will be posting one chapter a week - every Saturday is the plan - until it's finished.  
> Second, please take note of the Bad Friend Scott McCall tag. While it doesn't necessarily come up in this chapter, it is an integral part of this series and will be unavoidable in the future.  
> For the rest of my story and the basis for me writing this whole thing, please see the End Notes on this chapter. Much love, and I hope you enjoy following me on this journey! <3
> 
> Edit: Much love to my beautiful Beta [Madeline](https://pan-buck.tumblr.com) for not only helping me every step of the way with this fic, but also for making this gorgeous banner for me. <3

Sometimes the thing that made Stiles more angry than anything else, was that nobody but him knew how much Scott _really_ changed when he got bit. Sure, Melissa noticed he was a little more moody than before, but she just assumed it was some hidden phase of puberty. Stiles knew better.

Unfortunately, the person that had to deal with the brunt of Scott’s changes wasn’t even Stiles. Stiles could have handled it. He might’ve been a bit skinny, and his ADHD was a constant struggle, but he was plucky, okay? Besides, it was Stiles’ fault that Scott had gotten bitten, after all. He kind of deserved whatever came to him. But instead, Scott threw every new and unhappy feeling full force into the brooding face of one Derek Hale.

It started with Stiles, and his total inability to leave alone even the tiniest of mysteries. As soon as his dad swept out of the house in uniform, Stiles pulled on a hoodie and drove over to Scott’s. The plan was to climb up to Scott’s window, but his ankles got all sorts of twisted in the thick ivy growing over Scott’s porch roof, trapping him against the gabled roof. When the front door screeched open, Stiles closed his eyes and let himself fall backwards, the ridiculous knot around his feet keeping him suspended in the air next to Scott’s porch.

He came face to upside-down face with Scott, who nearly took his head off with a bat. As Scott shouted in surprise, Stiles screeched slightly and threw his hands up as if he were coordinated enough to catch the weapon.

“Stiles, what the hell are you doing?” Scott yelled, still waving the bat.

Stiles huffed, choosing to pretend this was normal. “You weren’t answering your phone! Why do you have a bat?”

“I thought you were a predator.”

Scoffing, Stiles attempted to control the blood rushing to his head. He was probably tomato red by now. “A pred—what? Look, I know it’s late, but you gotta hear this. I saw my dad leave twenty minutes ago. Dispatch called; they’re bringing in every officer in the Beacon Department and even State Police.”

The bat hung low from Scott’s hand. “For what?”

“Two joggers found a body in the woods.”

Reaching up, Stiles grabbed onto the knot of plants that were keeping his legs hostage and ripped until his ankles came free. With a quick twist of his torso, Stiles landed on his feet. Why couldn’t he have done that in front of Jackson? The possibility of breaking an ankle would be worth it to see that smug asshole’s shock.

Scott still wasn’t quite getting it. He leaned over the porch railing to look down at where Stiles stood between two bushes, his olive skinned face shadowed by the shaggy brown hair he’d been trying to grow out. “A dead body?”

“No, a body of water. Yes, dumbass, a dead body.” Stiles clambered over the railing onto Scott’s level and took a deep breath. The more questions Scott asked, the easier it would be to get him to go along with it.

“You mean, like, murdered?” Scott asked.

Stiles shrugged. “Nobody knows yet. Just that it was a girl, probably in her twenties.”

Finally, Scott caught on. “Hold on, if they found the body, what’re they looking for?”

“That’s the best part. They only found half. We’re going.”

It was nothing to get Scott to grab a pair of shoes and hop in the car. This wasn’t their first scavenger hunt. But around halfway to the Preserve, Scott started to get antsy.

“Why are we doing this, Stiles?” Scott asked, wrapping his arms around his stomach.

Stiles poked at the heater again, but it was still broken. “Dude, you know what the state police are like. They come in here, trash-talk my dad, and take all the credit. If we find the other half of the body, I can call my dad right to the spot and he stays sheriff that much longer.”

It quieted Scott until they actually parked, strategically placed so Stiles’ dad wouldn’t run across his Jeep on accident. Then, he fussed, “Are we seriously doing this?”

“You’re the one always bitchin’ that nothing ever happens in this town. If you didn’t want to come, why’d you wait till now to tell me? I could’ve done this on my own,” Stiles reminded him. Then, he stepped around the tiny gate that blocked the Preserve off from the public woods. For a second, he considered putting his hood up, since his skin was so damn pale, sometimes it was like wearing a reflector jacket in the moonlight, but he dismissed the idea. They weren’t gonna get that close to anyone.

Scott replied behind him, “I was trying to get a good night’s sleep before practice tomorrow.”

Stiles flicked his flashlight around into the leaves. “Right, cus’ sitting on the bench is such a grueling effort.”

“No, because I’m playing this year. In fact, I’m making first line.”

“Hey! That’s the spirit. Everyone should have a dream, even a pathetically unrealistic one.”

Scott had asthma so bad he needed his inhaler if he ran up the stairs to his room. There was no workaround to that on a lacrosse field. Why Scott couldn’t have picked a more asthmatic friendly team to join, Stiles didn’t know. Having a jersey didn’t help you get dates if you never left the bench.

Even the laugh Scott let out wasn’t quite as full as it should’ve been, and Stiles slowed his walk a little.

“Just out of curiosity,” Scott poked, “which half of the body are we looking for?”

Stiles paused, then pushed forward even slower. “Huh. I didn’t even think about that.” They hadn’t mentioned it on the phone while Stiles’d been eavesdropping, and Stiles’ afternoon dose of Adderall had worn off nearly an hour ago. He was running on pure adrenaline to keep focused.

“And, uh, what if whoever killed the body is still out here?”

“Also something I didn’t think about.”

Still, it was too late to back out now, so Stiles clambered up the nearest hill, his flashlight wobbling wildly.

Panting hard behind him, Scott followed. “It’s…comforting…to know you’ve…planned this out with your usual attention to detail.”

“I know.” Stiles reveled in his cockamamie schemes, and Scott was always up for trying dumb things with him.

He stopped at the top of the hill to wait for Scott, letting him lean against a tree and pull out his inhaler.

“Maybe the severe asthmatic should be the one holding the flashlight, huh?” Scott took a puff before scrambling the rest of the way up the hill.

Stiles would’ve given it to him, really, but then he saw _other_ flashlights in the distance so he threw himself into an army crawl in the underbrush. Scott collapsed down next to him, taking another puff.

Together they watched the group of officers head to the right. When the gap between them and the officers was wide enough, Stiles bounced to his feet. “Come on!”

He dove through the trees, keeping a good distance between him and the patrol. It was only when he stopped hearing Scott’s shuffling of every leaf in creation that he turned around to let him catch up.

A dog barked at his ankle and Stiles threw himself to the side and onto the ground. That was _not_ Doug, the sniffer dog from the station. This one was bigger, and it didn’t recognize Stiles. Just as he was sure an arm would be ripped off, his dad’s voice called out, “Hang on, hang on. This little delinquent belongs to me.”

Still partly blind from the flashlight being shone in his face, Stiles got to his feet, blinking hard and waving in his dad’s general direction. “Dad, how are you doing?”

As his vision came back, Stiles saw the _State_ label on the K-9 dog that’d gone after him. Of course it was a State-owned dog.

“So, do you, uh, listen in to all of my phone calls?” Noah asked. Rain was starting to come down, but he didn’t look the slightest bit bothered.

Stiles, on the other hand, hated the way it dripped down the back of his neck. He shook his head. “No…well, not the boring ones.”

Noah didn’t look surprised in the least, and he switched to the next question on their familiar repertoire. “Now, where’s your usual partner in crime?”

Probably about twenty feet away because he was a lucky bastard. “Who, Scott? Scott’s home. He said he wanted to get a good night’s sleep for first day back at school tomorrow. It’s just me. In the woods. Alone.”

Clearly, he’d laid it on a little too thick, because his dad waved around the flashlight and called out for Scott anyway. There was no answer, and his dad didn’t seem to see anything amongst the slowly wetting foliage.

He stepped forward and grabbed Stiles by the back of the neck, a move that Stiles was familiar with both as the sheriff’s son, and as the sheriff’s troublemaker. “Well, young man, I am going to walk you back to your car, and you and I are gonna have a conversation about something called ‘invasion of privacy.’”

The walk included the usual amount of scolding and threats about the removal of laptops. Only Stiles had to have his laptop for classes, so that never panned out. It ended in a hug though, and a promise to go straight home and to bed. Scotty was on his own getting back.

—

He got the call first thing in the morning.

_“Stiles, man, I know what killed the body.”_

Stiles was still yawning his way through packing his backpack. “What? How?”

_“Because it attacked me.”_

There was no laugh afterwards, and Stiles dropped his bag on his toe in his hurry to hold the phone that much closer to his face. “Wait, what? Holy shit, are you kidding? Are you okay?”

_“No joke. I’ll show you the bite when I get to school.”_

The bite?

Stiles sped to school and gushed over the perfectly bandaged bite in Scott’s side. It looked gnarly, and he couldn’t believe Scott hadn’t at least showed his mom. He reached out to touch the edge, but Scott skittered away from him to pick up his backpack. “Woah! It was too dark to see much, but I’m pretty sure it was a wolf.”

“A _wolf_ bit you?”

“Uh-huh.”

“No, not a chance.”

“I heard a wolf howling.”

“No, you didn’t.”

Scott clutched his backpack strap. “What do you mean, ‘No, I didn’t?’ How do you know what I heard?”

Stiles snorted. “Because California doesn’t have wolves, okay? Not in like sixty years.”

He’d done a paper on them in eighth grade and nearly drove the librarian nuts with all his questions. Wolves had nearly been killed off, and now California had too many people and not enough prey.

Still unconvinced, Scott asked, “Really?”

“Yes, really!” Stiles cried. “There are _no_ wolves in California.”

“Well, if you don’t believe me about the wolf, then you’re definitely not going to believe me when I tell you…I found the body.”

Stiles jerked violently and reached for Scott. “You—Are you kidding me?”

Scott shoved his hands in his pockets. “No, man, I wish. I’m gonna have nightmares for a month.”

Choking on laughter, Stiles shook his head. “Oh, god, that is freakin’ awesome. I mean, this is seriously gonna be the most interesting thing that’s happened to this town since—”

Flouncing up the walk with a pack of girls was a strawberry blonde with the face of an angel, and Stiles showed her due deference. “—since the birth of Lydia Martin. Hey Lydia…you look…” And she was gone. “Like you’re gonna ignore me.”

He swung around to level a halfhearted glare at Scott. “You’re the cause of this, you know?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Dragging me down to your nerd depths. I’m a nerd by association. I’ve been scarlet-nerded by you.” Stiles’ words drifted into morose mutters as he followed Scott inside for another day of teenage hell.

Stiles didn’t even notice Scott’s besottedness until after class, when he made moon-eyes over at Allison’s initiation into Lydia’s cult, ahem, clique, across the hall. What? Stiles was man enough to admit the woman of his dreams was a little scary.

He leaned onto the locker beside Scott as Harley wandered up. She wasn’t close to either of them, but Stiles’d shared a few classes with her the year before and they tended to just talk shit together. She definitely had one of those looks about her as she joined him, crossing her slim brown arms and drooping into a patented slouch.

“Can someone tell me how New Girl is here all of five minutes and she’s already hanging out with Lydia’s clique?” she asked.

Huffing, Stiles dropped the truth. “Because she’s hot. Beautiful people herd together.”

Scott wasn’t paying attention, but Harley scoffed at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What? Nothing! You know what I mean, Harley. All those supermodel people just kind of attract each other and share supermodel secrets,” he explained.

Harley snorted. “And how would you know? Been listening in on Lydia?”

Stiles groaned. “Just give me one year! One year, and she’ll see me. When we’re married, I’ll even invite you and Tanner to the wedding.”

He argued over Harley and her boyfriend’s imaginary seats in the venue with her all the way to Geometry, letting Scott lag behind and drool over Allison or whatever he was doing.

Practice was a complete mindfuck. Scott, who was more likely to have an asthma attack at the mere sight of a lacrosse ball headed toward him than to actually touch it, caught all but one of the practice shots the rest of the team tossed. He caught _Jackson’s_ ball, team captain, steroidal jerk, Jackson. Stiles honestly thought Coach Finstock’s jaw was going to get stomped into the turf.

Stiles pestered him about it on their way to the Preserve, but Scott didn’t start talking until they were crossing a stream toward the place where he thought he’d dropped his inhaler. Stiles stomped through the water, even though he knew he was going to walk with soggy socks for the rest of the day. The urge to splash was just irresistible.

“I—I don’t know what it was. It was like I had all the time in the world to catch the ball.” Scott hopped up the hill on the other side as he continued, nowhere near out of breath. “And that’s not the only weird thing. I can hear stuff I shouldn’t be able to hear. Smell things.”

“Smell things? Like what?”

Scott sniffed the air. “Like the Mint Mojito gum in your pocket.”

Stiles stopped and patted his pockets, saying, “I don’t even have any Mint Mojito—” His fingers closed around a small packet, and he pulled it out. A single piece of gum, wrapped in wax paper. What the everloving fuck?

When Stiles squinted up at Scott, he got a shrug in response. Stiles jogged forward a little to catch up. “So all this started with a bite.”

“What if it’s like an infection, like my body’s flooding with adrenaline before I go into shock or something?” Scott worried.

As the son of a nurse, he probably had dozens of diseases lined up in his mind as possibilities, but for Stiles, all signs pointed to one in particular.

“You know what? I actually think I’ve heard of this,” he said, rubbing at his nose. “It’s a specific kind of infection.”

Scott froze. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I think it’s called…lycanthropy.” He waited for Scott to get it, but alas.

“What’s that? Is that bad?” Scott whispered, clearly fearing for his life.

Stiles nodded dutifully, determined to carry this as far as he could. “Oh, yeah, it’s the worst. But, only once a month.”

“Once a month?”

Humming his confirmation, Stiles straightened his back. “On the night of the full moon.” He grinned at Scott. “Aroooooo!” His little howl made Scott shove at his shoulder. “Hey! You’re the one who heard a wolf howling.”

“There could be something seriously wrong with me!”

“I know! You’re a werewolf!” Stiles growled a little, but Scott wouldn’t take the bait. “Okay, obviously, I’m kidding,” he sighed. “But, if you see me in shop class trying to melt all the silver I can find, it’s cause Friday’s a full moon.”

Scott was paying absolutely no attention as he stopped and stared at the ground. “No, I—I could have sworn this was it. I saw the body, the deer came running. I dropped my inhaler.” He crouched to the ground and swept some leaves to the side.

Stiles tried to think. He knew his dad hadn’t found it. If he had he’d have mentioned it, and he wouldn’t be coming back later in the day for another search. “Maybe the killer moved the body,” he suggested.

“If he did, I hope he left my inhaler. Those things are like eighty bucks.”

Rotating at the hips to scan the ground for a white plastic tube, Stiles nearly had a heart attack at the sight of a guy dressed all in black a couple yards away. He was just watching them, glaring hard. Stiles didn’t dare take his eyes off him as he slapped Scott’s shoulder to get his attention.

He looked crazy familiar, like someone Stiles used to know, or at least know of. Everything about him screamed tall, dark, and brooding, with his gelled black hair, black jeans, and black shoes. The lightest things about him were his white shirt and skin. Topping it off was a thick, black leather jacket. Even as beefy as he clearly was, its cuffs hung open past his knuckles when he pulled his hands out of his pockets, making him look a little like he was wearing the clothes of someone even bigger.

As soon as Scott was looking, the guy stomped forward through the trees. “What are you doing here?” he scowled. “Huh? This is private property.”

Stiles ran one hand over his buzz cut. Since when was any part of the Preserve private? The last people to own land there were…holy shit. Stiles’ jaw dropped. “Sorry, man, we didn’t know.”

“Yeah, we were just looking for something…” Scott chimed in, “But…uh, forget it.”

In the blink of an eye, the guy yanked something out of his pocket, and it was across the ten foot distance into Scott’s hand. Scott’s inhaler.

Stiles barely waited until he was out of sight before smacking Scott’s shoulder again and interrupting Scott’s reminder about work. “Dude, that was Derek Hale. You remember, right? He’s only like a few years older than us.”

“Remember what?”

“His family? They all burned to death in a fire like six years ago.”

The Hales were the only family to live in the Preserve for the last century, and when their house had burned, the only ones left had disappeared.

—

Stiles got another wake up call from Scott while he was taking his meds, this time to tell him that apparently whatever infection he had was making him sleepwalk now. Into the middle of the Preserve. And his bite was gone, like it had never happened. Stiles had a very bad feeling.

But Scott seemed pretty normal during classes, and he went to get ready for practice without any issues. Stiles even asked him about whether he was smelling anything weird, and he’d just shrugged. He disappeared right before practice started, just in time for Stiles to get a call from his dad.

_“Hey, bud, just letting you know I’m working late tonight.”_

“Uh, yeah, okay. Promise you’ll eat something with vegetables,” Stiles requested, standing next to the fence and watching the actual players stretch on the field.

There was a rustling over the line, and the click of the rickety old door on his dad’s office. _“Sheriff?”_ came a tiny voice. _“We have the fiber analysis for you.”_

 _“Great, thank you, Tara,”_ Noah said. After a moment, he scoffed. _“Wolf hair? How in the hell did wolf hair get on the—Stiles, I need to let you go.”_

Stiles snapped his jaw shut from where it’d been hanging open. “Yeah, Dad, me too. Vegetables.”

 _“Vegetables,”_ his dad agreed.

Scott was nowhere to be found on the field, and Stiles was on the opposite end of it when he finally appeared next to the bleachers. Mad dashing toward him, Stiles caught him at the shoulders. “Scott! Scott, wait up!”

“Stiles, I’m playing the first elimination, man—can it wait?”

Gasping, Stiles kept his hand held out. “Just hold on, okay? I overheard my dad on the phone, the fiber analysis came back from the lab in L.A. They found animal hairs on the body from the woods!”

Scott ducked down to grab his crosse and turned away. “Stiles, I gotta go.”

“Wait, no, Scott! You’re not gonna believe what the animal was!” Stiles stopped as Scott ran onto the field. “It was a _wolf_ ,” he finished in a whisper to himself.

When Coach called them over, Stiles followed the group just long enough to hear his usual spiel about eliminations. Stiles was part of the second group, so he got to sit on the bench and watch as Scott was knocked to the ground by Jackson in the first play. There was something different about him as he stood up, a strange intensity that only set off more alarms when he began sprinting and spinning around the field once he had the ball. To finish the shot off, Scott did a front flip over the heads of three other players.

The day before, when it’d just been freaky luck, Stiles had been ecstatic. Now, even though Scott was grinning wildly at making first line, Stiles just stared into the turf, thinking.

Scott couldn’t do a handstand, let alone a flip. None of this should’ve been remotely possible for him, especially with his asthma. But whereas Scott usually had his inhaler in hand or at least waiting on the bench during practice, Stiles hadn’t even seen him take it out of the locker room.

As soon as practice was over, Stiles made his way to the public library and checked out as many books as was allowed, grabbing anything that looked vaguely helpful off the shelves. When he got home he ferried the books into his room and locked the door.

It took most of the night. Stiles fell asleep at his desk around one and woke up with a neck cramp to the sound of his alarm going off. He had to scramble to get to school on time and hunted Scott down right before their first class.

“Dude, I need to talk to you,” he blurted, snatching at Scott’s arm before he went into the classroom.

Scott looked at him, then glanced into the room. “Okay, but I need to talk to Allison about when I’m picking her up for our date.”

“This is so much more important than that.” Stiles ran his hands through his hair, unsure of how to approach this. “Dude, I don’t think you were wrong about getting infected with something from that bite.”

There was a roll of eyes, and Scott shoved at his shoulder. “No more jokes, man, alright? It healed, and I’m fine. Now, I _really_ need to talk to Allison.”

Stiles reached after Scott as he walked away, but the bell rang and he got an immensely dirty look from Mr. Curtis until he closed the door and sat down. As he watched Scott and Allison exchange little smiles, Stiles fretted. He couldn’t just tell Scott about this in school. What if he had a breakdown? This was life-changing, mind-blowing stuff.

Scott disappeared right after class to talk to Allison, and Stiles texted his dad out of desperation.

_Do u have any leads on wht attacked that girl??_

**Yoda: And what makes you think I’d tell you about that, son?**

**__** _O come on. Who am I gonna tell?_

**Yoda: We’re questioning some people.**

**__** _Like who??_

**Yoda: Like people who live near the scene of the crime, Stiles. Don’t you have class?**

**__** _Not 4 another 3 mins._

**Yoda: Go to class.**

At lunch, Stiles could only get Scott to agree to come to his house after work. That was probably the best place to break the news, somewhere Scott could process it safely. Plus, Stiles could do more research while he waited.

He was _prepared_. Pages were printed out, he had bookmarks in all the relevant parts of the books he’d found, and he was trying to find illustrations to really drive the truth home when someone knocked on the door. The sound startled Stiles up out of his seat, and for a good half second he wondered whether there was a group of secret government officials here to take him away. What if he’d gotten put on a watchlist? He’d Googled some weird shit, they could be here to keep him from spilling international secrets.

But no, it was Scott. He grinned dopily while Stiles ushered him into the room and closed the door again for good measure. “I’ve been up all night reading. Websites, books, all this information.”

“Is this about the body?” Scott asked, throwing his backpack on the bed and sitting at its edge. “Did they find out who did it?”

Momentarily distracted, Stiles dropped into his chair. “No, they’re still questioning people. Even Derek Hale.”

He was the only person who lived within a two mile radius of the area in the Preserve where the body had been found.

“Oh, the guy in the woods we saw the other day.”

“Yeah, yes!” Stiles shook his hands and head to get back on track. “But that’s not it, okay?”

Scott chuckled. “What, then?”

Okay. Big moment. “Remember the joke from the other day? Not a joke anymore.”

Confusion laced Scott’s face, and Stiles didn’t have the patience to wait for him to ask.

“The wolf! The bite in the woods,” he exclaimed. “I started doing all this reading—Do you even know why a wolf howls?” Stiles jumped to his feet.

Scott shrugged. “Should I?”

“It’s a signal, okay? When a wolf’s alone, it howls to signal its location to the rest of the pack. So if you heard a wolf howling, that means others could have been nearby. I mean, maybe even a whole pack of them.”

Scott straightened up. “A whole pack of wolves?”

This wasn’t working. Stiles needed to just rip the band-aid off. “No, werewolves.”

There it was. Scott was a werewolf. Stiles was expecting some pushback, but rather than being confused or frightened, Scott just looked pissed.

He stood up and reached for his bag. “Are you seriously wasting my time with this? You know I’m picking Allison up in an hour.”

“I saw you on the field yesterday, Scott. Okay, what you did wasn’t just amazing, alright? It was impossible.”

Scott was still going for the door. “Yeah, so I made a good shot.”

Stiles went around him and grabbed his backpack, pulling it out of Scott’s hands and throwing back on his bed. “No, you made an _incredible_ shot! I mean, the way you moved, your speed, your reflexes. People can’t just suddenly do that overnight. And there’s the vision, and the senses, and don’t even think I don’t notice that you don’t need your inhaler anymore—”

“Okay!” Scott interrupted. “Dude, I can’t think about this now.” He stared hard at Stiles for a second. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? What? No! The full moon’s tonight, don’t you get it?” Stiles cried. This was a matter of life and death.

Just as loudly, Scott shouted back, “What are you trying to do? I just made first line. I got a date with a girl who I can’t believe wants to go out with me, and everything in my life is somehow perfect. Why are you trying to ruin it?”

Stiles had fallen back into his chair and dug around for some papers to avoid Scott’s furious gaze, but he turned around again at the question. “I’m trying to help.”

His sincerity seemed to shock some belief into Scott, because he went quiet and let Stiles talk. “You’re cursed, Scott. And it’s not just that the moon will cause you to physically change. It also just so happens to be when your bloodlust will be at its peak.”

“Bloodlust,” Scott repeated.

“Yeah, your urge to kill.”

“I’m already starting to feel an urge to kill, Stiles.”

Proof, Scott needed proof. “You gotta hear this.” Stiles spun back to his desk and snagged a tattered book he’d found in the library that was a veritable treasure trove of werewolf facts. Flicking to the bookmarked page, he recited a line. “‘The change can be caused by anger, or anything that raises your pulse.’ All right? I haven’t seen anyone raise your pulse like Allison does. You gotta cancel this date.”

Going for Scott’s backpack, Stiles dug into the front pocket for Scott’s phone. “I’m gonna call her right now.”

Fidgeting, Scott leaned into him. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m cancelling the date!”

“No! Give it to me!”

Scott grabbed onto the front of Stiles’ shirt and swung him around, slamming him into the small space of wall between his desk and his old dresser. His shoulder popped painfully, and he cracked his head against the wall, but Stiles didn’t so much as breathe. His hands went up and he froze in place, waiting for Scott’s lifted fist to make contact. Scott’s second long hesitation felt like it lasted a hundred years, then he threw his hand down to bash it into Stiles’ padded desk chair, spinning it around and knocking it over.

He was panting hard, brows furrowed and gazing somewhere through Stiles’ face. After another second, Scott came back to himself and his grip on Stiles’ shirt loosened. “I’m sorry,” he breathed. Stumbling back, he looked down at the chair, then back up at Stiles. “I—I gotta go get ready for that party,” he said, voice subdued.

Stiles dropped his eyes to the floor, looking at the chair that was almost him. He didn’t look up as Scott gathered his bag and phone and went to the door, or at the repeated, “I’m sorry.” that preceded the door opening and closing. 

Almost as soon as Scott was out of sight, Stiles closed his eyes and smacked his already hurting head against the wall again. Stupid. He’d just frozen up like a fucking idiot. Like he was eleven again, hiding behind his dad’s legs. If he’d just _said_ something…

Groaning, he bent down to grab the chair and pull it upright again. The momentum swiveled the back of it around to face Stiles, and Stiles’ heart lurched into his stomach. From the top edge, down to almost the center of the thin faux leather, were three long slashes. The kind that could never have been made with a human hand.

The change was already starting, just like in the movies. Who knew how long Scott had before he was rampaging around town attacking people with his giant muzzle and big dog feet?

Checking the time, Stiles yanked his shirt off and dug in his dresser for something to wear to the party he was apparently attending. He added a tie to the collared red shirt he’d picked out, ran to the bathroom to brush his teeth and spray on some deodorant and skidded toward the front door.

Someone had to be there for Scott. At the very least, Stiles could throw himself in front of someone and die a martyr at the hands of his best friend. Honestly, he was more hoping that he could convince Scott to leave.

Something about Scott was different lately. Beyond all the sniffing and reflexes, Scott had stopped listening to Stiles.

To say that Scott was a pushover sounded a little mean, but it wasn’t entirely inaccurate. Since they’d met in middle school, Scott was a total marshmallow around most people. Stiles had punched more than one kid in the face for teasing him about his asthma. It was only when he lost his temper with adults that Stiles became the “reasonable” one.

Stiles tried never to take advantage of Scott’s trusting nature, at least, not in a way that was _really_ dangerous. He mostly just played cheerleader, urging Scott on once Scott got the guts to do something stupid like join a lacrosse team he’d never be able to properly play for. But when Stiles said things, Scott had always listened. He was oldest, after all. Getting held back in the second grade because of his ADHD was a curse sometimes, but it was why he matched Scott’s grade-level, so Stiles couldn’t quite get mad.

But now, Scott hadn’t listened to him about this for a damn _second_. Hadn’t been paying attention in the woods. Like Stiles wasn’t someone he _needed_ to listen to anymore. Considering what Scott was up to now, that was clearly a monumental mistake and Stiles deserved a reward because he’d obviously accidentally been saving Scott’s hide for years now if this was the kind of crap Scott did when Stiles wasn’t there to be the voice of research.

If Stiles was one thing, it was persistent, so he drove over to Lydia’s house and headed inside just as the party was picking up. Emulating every awesome spy he’d ever watched, Stiles planted himself next to the front door with a nonchalant looking cup of Sprite and waited, bobbing his head to the music.

Scott didn’t even see him when he showed up with Allison. If Stiles weren’t fearing for Scott’s life and pretty much everyone else’s at the same time, he’d be proud. Allison really was gorgeous, so smiley and with such bouncy hair. They were adorable together, with no big teeth in sight, so Stiles kept his distance and followed them discreetly when they went out to the patio. The back double door was wide open, so Stiles stayed inside and watched from a distance.

At least, he did until Harley and Tanner showed up. Stiles knew Tanner’s swim team had gone to a meet that day, and sure enough when Tanner swung in for a bro hug his dark hair still smelled like chlorine. Tanner was nice, always up for banter, just like Harley. Stiles started up a conversation about the newest Robin Hood movie that left Harley in tears of laughter as Tanner attempted an English accent that was actually painful to hear.

Every couple minutes, Stiles looked outside to see Scott grinning blissfully and holding Allison. Maybe they’d be okay, actually. Maybe Stiles just had this all wrong.

And yet, Stiles’ shoulders ached from their intimate moment with his bedroom wall. A quick check in his mirror had showed off some serious bruises. That was fine though, Siles could deal. It was an accident, adrenaline rush and all that. Scott would never hurt him on purpose, obviously. Plus he’d apologized like three times.

But his chair…

The flip-flopping of Stiles’ mindset was put to rest as soon as Scott came barrelling into the house, pushing past Stiles like he couldn’t even see him with a pinched face and his hands shoved behind his back.

Stiles lost time saying goodbye to Harley and Tanner, and only reached the outside of the house in time to watch Scott race away in the car. Moments later, Allison came running out from the alley next to the house, staring down the road at Scott’s brakelights.

Stiles was already halfway across the yard to her when none other than Derek Hale stepped in. He’d expected more of the humorless grump that he and Scott had met on the Preserve while looking for Scott’s inhaler, but Derek was actually _smiling_. Too far away to hear, Stiles just watched as Derek pointed over at a sleek black Camaro and said something that made Allison look a little less heartbroken, though she still took another glance at the direction Scott had disappeared.

When they started heading to Derek’s car, Stiles burst into action. They didn’t know anything about Derek, what if he was hitting on Allison? Though, that would be kind of weird, because Stiles was pretty sure Derek was like twenty-two. Still, Stiles was the _best_ wingman, even if he’d literally never gotten the chance to try before, and he wasn’t going to let her just disappear with a complete stranger.

“Allison!” he called, jogging up to them. Allison smiled awkwardly at him, but Derek looked tense again, like he had in the woods. “So, I’m not gonna pretend I know what that was all about, but I’m sure Scott has like a super good reason for leaving. Do you need a ride?”

To his surprise, Allison looked totally honest when she shook her head. “Thanks, but Derek said he’d take me home. If you see Scott, can you tell him to call me?”

Part of Stiles really didn’t want to let her leave with Derek, but not only could he not find a good reason to argue, he also wasn’t seeing any of the creeper signs he’d been looking for on Derek’s face. If anything, he just looked like he was in a hurry. Maybe he needed to get home for something, or run an errand. Besides, Allison looked comfortable with him. Maybe they knew each other?

So Stiles just nodded at them both, lingering a little on Derek in the hope that he could convey the hidden message of _hurt her I kill you_ with his eyes and walked over to his Jeep. It was actually good Derek was helping Allison out because now Stiles could just focus on catching up with Scott and convincing him about the werewolf thing.

Only when he finally got to Scott’s house and walked in through the already open front door, Scott wouldn’t even let him into the bedroom.

“Let me in Scott, I can help!” He’d spent the whole afternoon looking up werewolves, and breathing exercises and meditations ran through his head on repeat. They just needed to calm him down.

When Scott replied, his words ticked like he had something in his mouth. “No, listen, you’ve got to find Allison.”

Seriously? He was turning into a man-eating beast, and he was still worried about his girlfriend? “She’s fine, alright? I saw her get a ride from the party. She’s—She’s totally fine!” Couldn’t they worry about his relationship later, preferably after Stiles got to see a werewolf?

“No! I think I know who it is.”

“Just let me in! We can try—”

“It’s Derek! Derek Hale is the werewolf. He’s the one that bit me, he’s the one that killed the girl in the woods,” Scott panted.

But that didn’t make sense. Derek hadn’t looked too friendly, but he…oh god. “Scott, Derek’s the one who drove Allison from the party.” And Stiles had let him.

Suddenly the door slammed shut again and the lock slid into place. Stiles only bothered banging on the door once before he leaned in and listened. If Scott was dying or something, he could always try to kick the door in. It worked in movies.

But there were no gasping or crashing sounds. Just the squeak of the window, and then a distant splash. Was Scott getting in the tub or something? Stiles froze when an inhuman roar echoed through the house. It wasn’t coming from the bedroom. Scott McCall had left the building.

The only thing Stiles could do was go try and explain to Allison’s parents that she’d been taken hostage by a werewolf, and now another werewolf was going to try and get her back. How he planned to do that without getting sent to Eichen House, Stiles didn’t know, but he was gonna try. He sped over to the address of the most recently sold house in town and banged on the door. The name Argent was already written on the mailbox, so at least he had the right place.

A slightly terrifying woman with cropped red hair answered the door, but Stiles hadn’t managed to get anywhere near the point when she turned around called for Allison. And Allison came. She was there, not dead, not mangled, looking exactly as pleasant and safe as at the party, only sans jacket.

Which meant Scott was chasing after Derek for no reason. Well, he had a couple good reasons, if Derek really was the one that attacked him and that Jane Doe, but Stiles was pretty sure Allison’s dark curls and pretty pink blush were the only things running through Scott’s mind at the moment. The book had said bloodlust was only part of the emotional problems werewolves had. Pretty much every heart rate raising feeling was more potent, and Stiles was positive Allison’s mere existence was what set Scott off at the party.

Fumbling for a reason why he was on her doorstep, Stiles rubbed at his head. “Uh, Scott just texted me and told me to tell you he’s sorry, but something _really_ important came up. He, uh, he’ll talk to you on Monday?”

Allison looked satisfied, but her mother gave Stiles a very weird look his whole way out the door.

—

With Allison safe and Scott not answering his phone, Stiles resorted to driving up and down the road through and by the Preserve, as that was the last place Scott had gone when he was overcome by the wolf in his sleep. Scott didn’t show up until dawn, walking shirtless along the street with blood smeared down his arm. He explained what’d happened, and Stiles could only breathe a sigh of relief. Hunters or not, at least Derek had been there to save Scott when Stiles couldn’t.

Stiles tried to cheer Scott up, promising to do whatever it took to keep him safe, even if it meant feeding him live mice. It almost worked, but after a pause Scott frowned at him.

“You know, you sounded just like Derek before,” he accused.

“What, did Derek have a boa too?”

Scott shook his head. “No, you both keep talking about this like it’s a good thing. Derek said it’s supposed to be a gift, that we’re brothers now, and you won’t stop acting like I just won the lottery.”

Thinking about it, Stiles could see both sides of the situation. He knew it had to be infuriating for Scott to not be in control of his own body and emotions. After all, Stiles had had anxiety attacks since his mom died and every single one hit him like a punch to the gut with no regard to where he was or what he was doing. High school was hard enough without going through puberty on supernatural steroids.

But Derek had a point. Scott could do things nobody else could do, and whether he wanted to admit it or not, he was already seeing the privileges that came with werewolfdom. With his asthma gone and the heightened reflexes, he’d gotten on first line, and the only reason he’d even made first contact with Allison was because he’d overheard her needing a pen.

The comment about being brothers _was_ a bit over the top, but Stiles kind of got that too. Derek’s family was completely gone, except his sister, if Stiles remembered correctly. And there weren’t any other werewolves that Stiles knew of in town. He was probably lonely as hell. Plus, while Stiles was totally prepared to help Scott out however he could, it would be awesome if they had someone who actually knew what they were doing around to give advice.

“Dude, not that I’m not totally sympathetic, but you have superpowers, not the flu. This isn’t the worst thing in the world,” he reminded.

It was apparently the wrong thing to say, because Scott literally growled at him. Holy shit. “I was shot in the arm last night! There was an arrow sticking out of my body. And Derek is a murderer that also turned me into a monster. Why are you taking his side?”

“I’m not taking his side, I’m just saying that we should look at the silver lining. And to be fair, Derek also _saved_ you. Maybe biting you was like a freak accident. Also, we don’t _know_ he killed that girl. It could have been a coincidence.” Stiles really needed to start keeping a shovel in his backseat because he wasn’t sure he was ever gonna dig himself out of this hole. 

It just felt wrong to blame Derek for everything bad that’d happened. Sure, he was the newest thing in town, besides Allison. And he’d been on the Preserve when they went to find the body, and he’d had Scott’s inhaler, and he was the one to lead Scott out to the woods that he got shot in. But saying that it meant Derek was a crazy murderer was pure conjecture. And Stiles would know, okay? He’d helped his dad out on way too many cases not to see that there were too many details missing, and everything that looked like damning evidence could easily be totally innocent, or even noble.

The Hale house was smack in the middle of the Preserve, so it made total sense that Derek would be there. He’d only had Scott’s inhaler because it was evidence that someone was trespassing, and he’d given it back as soon as Scott came to claim it. Stiles couldn’t even find fault in him using Allison’s jacket to trick Scott into the woods. He’d been pretty out of control, and if Derek hadn’t kept him out of sight of humans, Stiles didn’t want to think about what might have happened to Allison or some hapless stranger.

Before Stiles could really question why he was so eager to defend a complete stranger, Scott reminded him by growling again. That. That barely contained fury that just jumped out of nowhere. Scott didn’t do that, didn’t have that in him. In the years Stiles had known him, the closest his best friend had ever gotten to real rage was the anger he felt for his dad. Stiles knew it still hurt him, that he’d just walked out, but it’d never seeped into the cotton candy sweet personality Scott was born with.

It wasn’t normal, and it wasn’t Scott. The sudden fury tainted everything Scott said with an underlying urge toward stupid violence that Stiles didn’t want to perpetuate. He was just looking for a fight and Derek was nearby.

Stiles let it drop, not saying anything else the rest of the way to Scott’s house. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the end notes! Now, the juicy stuff.  
> This is a canon rewrite, in fact, while I was picking the tags I had to stop myself from making one of them "Canon Complaint" instead of "Compliant." Basically, I got really frustrated with TW's writers because of their crazy timeline and editing, and the whole concept introduced at the end of the show where Scott was narrating things. I'm a believer that this means he was narrating the entire show, and it's therefore biased from his perspective.  
> While yes, the story this season does follow the same plotlines, and contain most of the same dialogue and scenes, I've done my personal best to remove certain layers of bias that may have come from the story being Scott's view of things, and to set a reliable timeline for the show to follow. Every event has been assigned a day, every week is marked.  
> No matter what way I spun it, I couldn't make the full moons 30 days apart. It was either 31 or 28 and I went with what I felt worked best.  
> Anyway. Characters have birthdays and set ages, which may differ from other calendars or age lists you've seen. Certain moments in canon had to be adjusted to fit the new timeline, but at least we don't have three days worth of moments shoved into a single evening anymore.  
> Also, while I am attempting to remove the bias towards Scott, I will admit that I am tilting the bias in Stiles' and Derek's directions instead. I will not deny that. I have made some changes to basic canon that will become more prominent in later seasons, and I tried to let myself have fun with it.  
> If I have my way, the end of my series will be entirely unrecognizable from the the television show.


	2. Episode 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited to be posting the next chapter, you have no idea. <3 Your guys' comments keep me going and I'm loving all your reactions to changes I'm making.

Monday sucked, for multiple reasons. For one, Stiles hadn’t been able to find anything about werewolf hunters online over the weekend that wasn’t part of a book series or really bad movie. Without help from someone who could distinguish the bullshit from the real stuff, it was impossible to be sure anything he did find was correct.

Second, practice after school felt pointless, when he was just going to run laps for a team he couldn’t even play on. It wouldn’t be half as bad if he were sharing the bench with Scott, but now Scott was first line and Stiles only had Greenburg as company.

Normally the exercise at least helped with Stiles’ jitters, it was part of the reason he’d agreed when Scott wanted to join the team after all, but Stiles was too worried to care about much of anything by the time he finished getting dressed in the locker room.

The look on Scott’s face as Stiles walked past his locker stopped him dead. Oh, right. Real life. Scott had had to face Allison today.

Tentatively, Stiles leaned around the grate of the locker nearest him. “Did you apologize to Allison?” he asked.

Without looking at him, Scott breathed. “Yeah.”

“Is she giving you a second chance, or…?”

“Yeah.”

Finally, good news. “Yeah!” Stiles cheered. “All right! So everything’s good.” He slapped the edge of the locker with one glove and turned to go.

“No.”

Stiles stopped again. Scott was still staring into space, shirtless. “No?”

“Remember…the hunters?” he asked. Of course Stiles remembered the hunters, he’d been obsessing over them for two days. “Her dad is one of them.”

That was _not_ something that came up in Stiles’ research. “Her dad?”

Scott’s eyebrows raised, the first expression of the conversation. “Shot me…”

“Allison’s father?” Stiles double checked.

“With a crossbow.”

Stiles could have sworn he felt little puffs of smoke come out of his own ears from how hard the gears in his head were grinding. Just…just one more time. “Allison’s _father_ —”

“Yes! Her father!” Scott cried. The shock of his own shout seemed to set him onto a bad spiral, as he immediately started whimpering. “Oh my god, oh my god—”

Throwing himself forward, Stiles patted at Scott’s cheeks. “Scott, no, snap back. Okay? He didn’t recognize you, right?” If he had, Stiles doubted Scott would’ve made it to the locker room.

Scott finally focused on Stiles’ face and dropped his eyes to the floor as he thought. “No, n—no I don’t think so.”

“Does she know about him?”

“Oh, yeah,” Scott realized, “I don’t know. What if she _does_? He’s gonna _kill_ me, man.”

He looked on the verge of tears, but the last minute whistle blew up at the door and Stiles just did _not_ have time for this. Reaching around Scott’s head, Stiles grabbed at Scott’s gloves and pushed them into his chest. “Just focus on lacrosse, okay, here, Scott—take this—take this and just focus on lacrosse for now. That’s all you gotta do, yeah?”

Slowly taking his items from Stiles, Scott croaked, “Lacrosse.” It was good enough.

Stiles patted roughly at Scott’s upper arms, trying to jog him into something resembling coherent, punctuating each clap with a word. “ _Here we go_.”

By the time Scott caught up with him out on the field he looked better, not as cotton-headed.

He’d told Scott not to think about it, but that didn’t mean Stiles wouldn’t. Holy god, could this kid get any more unlucky? How was it possible that the first girl to ever agree to go on a date with Scott happened to be the daughter of a guy that stuck an arrow in him the same night? Was she in on it? Maybe it was all some elaborate plan and she was going to lead him to her dad after the party anyway. Where did Derek fit in?

Stiles’ musings stopped, along with all other movement on the field. Somehow startled by silence, Stiles peered around the long line of actual players to see a familiar jersey clambering to its feet. Jackson had knocked Scott down. Oh, shit.

When Scott crashed into Jackson in retaliation, Stiles made a run for his friend, rather than joining the rest of the team surrounding where Jackson lay supine. Scott was keeled over, clutching at his gloves like they were hurting him. To give them cover, Stiles plastered himself over Scott’s back and whispered furiously, “Scott, you okay?”

“I can’t control it, Stiles. It’s happening,” Scott heaved out. Already he had that thick sound in his voice, the one that apparently meant too-long teeth.

“What? Right here? Now? Come on, get up. Come _on_.” Stiles pulled Scott upright and mostly dragged him across the field, behind the backs of their worried team and coach.

They made it to the locker room before Scott lost it completely, and then Stiles finally got up close and personal with a werewolf.

The fangs, he’d been expecting. The claws made perfect sense. The eyes were pretty goddamn weird, and totally ruined Stiles’ hopes that lycanthropy might be a totally sensible mutation or medical condition that could be cured, because glowing eyes were _clearly_ magic. And the funky sideburns that just fucking popped up on a face Stiles _knew_ Scott only needed to shave like once a month, were just plain over the top.

Combined, it was a sight to make your heart stop. Literally. At least this time Stiles had the presence of mind to run away when Scott lunged at him, even if the only safe option was to run further _into_ the locker room rather than out of it. Here, Scott was slightly contained. If contained meant climbing on top of the lockers and growling like nothing Stiles had ever heard before. Even trapped inside Scott’s helmet those teeth made Stiles tremble. He crawled and stumbled, ramming into more lockers and tripping over the bench as Scott stalked him from above.

The door was open, and Stiles was being herded toward it, like Scott wanted a chase. It was only at the last second that Stiles managed to yank the pin from the fire extinguisher and blast Scott back to his senses. Screw this, Stiles ran around the doorway and waited, ready to blast again if Scott tried to leave the room.

No more growling came, just a small groan and a “Stiles?”

A tiny voice in the back of Stiles’ head started beating him to death with a baseball bat when he willingly walked back into the room he’d nearly died in. Or, maybe Stiles just had a concussion from hitting his head against a locker as he ran for his life.

Scott blinked up at him, eyes their usual soft brown, and Stiles could never just leave him. So he shoved down his fear and said, “You tried to kill me.” But that wasn’t Scott’s fault, so he tried again. “It’s like I said before, it’s your pulse rising. It’s a trigger.”

Taking pity on Scott, Stiles volunteered to stay behind and find out what he could about Jackson’s condition, while Scott headed to work and then home. Coach hadn’t been happy about Scott disappearing before practice was over, but Stiles rambled about whatever came to mind until Finstock made him the new object of his annoyance. As he gasped through the extra laps, Stiles convinced himself it was worth it.

He got a two hour nap in before he figured it was time to get ahold of Scott, and as he loaded up the video chat he dug around for something to play with. A toy gun it was, with flashing lights and everything. It didn’t get the reaction he wanted though, so he dropped it almost immediately.

During a lull in the conversation, Stiles noticed something dark in the corner of Scott’s room. If he didn’t know better, he’d think it was a person. Then he saw the bathroom light bounce off over-pixelated leather, and he knew who it was. Not wanting to scare Scott too bad, he typed off a message.

_It looks like_

The camera screen froze as he tried to type out the rest of the sentence, but finally he got it through.

_Someone’s behind you_

He watched as Scott stared back at him, and then the figure moved forward. Stiles caught one glimpse of Derek’s face as he yanked Scott backwards, and then all he saw was Derek’s back as he pushed Scott into a wall. There was mumbling, but the audio quality wasn’t good enough for him to pick up on anything other than Scott’s terrified voice.

There was nothing Stiles could do until Derek jumped out the window, and then he spent the next half hour apologizing to Scott.

He’d been wrong, so goddamn wrong. No sane person would break into someone’s bedroom to threaten to kill them. Having saved Scott from the hunters or not, Derek was clearly nuts. Also, probably a murderer. Something had to be wrong with Stiles’ villain radar.

—

The next few days at school, Stiles tried to act like everything was normal, just for a little bit. He didn’t want to get behind on homework and he knew that the safest plan for Scott was to keep things as totally average and insignificant as possible. The last thing they needed was for Scott to get found out.

That flew out the window on Friday when he saw his dad talking to the principal with one of his deputies. With a little help from Scott, he discovered they were setting up a town curfew. When the hell had that ever happened before?

This was Beacon Hills, not New York or San Francisco. Nothing interesting happened here, and certainly not anything that would require a curfew.

As always, the unsolved case made Stiles tense. His dad was elected to his station, and every time an investigation lagged it brought about the possibility of Noah Stilinski being bumped down a few ranks. It wouldn’t happen any time soon if Stiles had anything to say about it.

Suddenly decided, Stiles huffed, “I can do something.”

“Like what?”

“Like find the other half of the body.”

He spent lunch in the library looking at maps of Beacon Hills to find the most likely place Derek would have stashed it. The Preserve made the most sense, but it was massive. Maybe down near the river, where the search dogs couldn’t smell it?

After school and practice, he took an afternoon dose of Adderall and redoubled his efforts on his home computer.

Scott called a little over an hour into his research with news that sent Stiles racing over to his house. It didn’t occur to him until he was in the room that he could have been asking questions the moment he stepped in the front door, and Scott would have heard him. “What did you find? How did you find it? Where did you find it?” he gushed.

“I found something at Derek Hale’s.”

“Are you kidding? What?” Stiles should have been more upset Scott went near Derek at all, but the rest of his head was whooping for joy at solving his dad’s case. The sheriff had been muttering about wild animal attacks up and down the hallway until Stiles had to close his door to keep the sounds out.

With a totally serious face, Scott said, “There’s something buried there, I could smell blood.”

For approximately the tenth time since he’d found out, Stiles was struck by the proof that his best friend really was a mythical creature. “That’s awesome!” Oh, that didn’t sound right. “I mean, that’s terrible. Whose blood?”

Standing up, Scott bounced on the soles of his feet a little. “I don’t know, but when we do, your dad nails Derek for the murder. Then you help me figure out how to play lacrosse without changing. Because there’s no way I’m not playing in that game,” he stated. To prove it, he tightened the cord on his lacrosse stick and threw it onto his bed.

This was going to be so cool.

Getting Scott into the morgue was stupidly easy. He literally just walked into a doctors only zone and no one looked twice at him. But they did look twice at Stiles as he stood awkwardly next to the door, so he headed over to the waiting room to let Scott finish comparing the scents he’d smelled on Derek’s property to the half of the body being kept for the investigation.

Sitting with a grace that shouldn’t be possible in the hard hospital chairs, was Lydia Martin. Stiles nearly tripped over his own feet at the sight of her just looking around the room. She wasn’t doing anything, and he had a decent amount of time until Scott finished up. This was his chance. Trying to calm his pounding heart, Stiles went over to lean on the wall a couple chairs down from her. “Hey, Lydia.”

She continued twirling her hair in one hand, jaw ticked to the side.

“You probably don’t remember me. Um, we have Chemistry together?” He paused to give her a chance to speak, but she tilted her head a little and looked up toward the ceiling lights. “Uh, anyway. I always thought that we just had this kind of connection.” 

Now, she made eye contact, and he choked out a laugh. “Unspoken, of course.”

Her lips lifted a little into a smile.

“Maybe it’d be kind of cool to uh…get to know each other a little better.”

Finally, she spoke. “Hold on, give me a second.” Swiping her hair out of the way, Lydia removed a Bluetooth device from her ear. Oh god. She shook her head and held out a hand, still smiling. “Yeah, I didn’t get any of what you just said. Is it worth repeating?”

He swallowed hard. “Uh…no. Sorry.” Stiles backed away before she could say anything else, scooting around the corner to collapse in a chair. He snatched up the nearest pamphlet and held it in front of his face as he tried to get past the crippling embarrassment of having a whole conversation with Lydia while she was on the phone with _someone else_. Even when Jackson showed up, he stayed hidden and watched them interact. How did Jackson look so cool all the time, when he was really just a dick?

When Scott returned, hyped up and out for blood, Stiles had to pause. As much as he wanted to help his dad, he needed to know what part of Scott was in control.

“Tell me something first. Are you doing this because you want to stop Derek, or because you want to play in the game and he said you couldn’t?” This really wouldn’t work if Scott was preoccupied with keeping his position on first line.

“There are bite marks on the legs, Stiles. Bite marks,” Scott pleaded. It was enough to convince Stiles.

Finding the other half of the body, only to realize the girl was another werewolf put Stiles ill at ease, but he called it in anyway, once he’d removed the wolfsbane that was keeping her in wolf form. It took the cops till’ morning to arrive, and by then Stiles and Scott had reburied the body and and driven off so Derek would come back to his place without getting suspicious.

Why would Derek have killed another werewolf? Had he just decided to come home for his mental breakdown? Or was this not the first time he’d done something like this? Maybe he’d been leaving a trail of bodies from wherever the hell he disappeared to after the fire.

Even knowing that Derek was a killer didn’t stop the tiny twang in Stiles’ heart when he watched Derek being escorted from the burned remains of his family home. It was in absolute ruins, but Derek had been squatting there for days. When Derek showed up to yell at them for being on his property, Stiles had assumed he was living in a real house, maybe a rebuilt one. Not this.

Maybe it was for the scent. Scott had been talking nonstop about the way Allison and his mom smelled, and the books Stiles had gotten ahold of made scent out to be seriously important. The house was probably the only place that Derek could find comfort in Beacon Hills. Where the hell was his sister?

Unable to resist, Stiles slid into the passenger seat of the cruise Derek was in when no one was looking. There he was. Derek Hale. He looked a lot less intimidating without the jacket.

Feeling bold, Stiles poked his fingers through the grill. “Okay, just so you know, I’m not afraid of you.”

Only, Derek up close hit about a fifteen on pretty much every scale Stiles could think of, so he was definitely lying. Even worse, Derek clearly knew it and was staring at him way too knowingly. He didn’t even look smug about Stiles’ fear, like a serial killer should. While his expression didn’t noticeably change, something about it went sad when Stiles asked his question.

“The girl you killed, she was a werewolf. She was a different kind, wasn’t she? I mean, she could turn herself into an actual wolf, and I know Scott can’t do that.” Could Derek do that? “Is that why you killed her?”

Derek’s voice was heavily controlled, something Stiles wished Scott were more capable of at the moment. Why did the one person who could have helped them out have to be a murderer? “Why are you so worried about me, when it’s your friend who’s the problem?” It startled Stiles to realize that technically, between the two of them, Stiles had the least violent relationship with Derek. Scott had never actually seen anything other than this furious, defensive version of the werewolf. At least Stiles had gotten to see he had some kind of non-threatening side when he’d talked to Allison.

Continuing, Derek began to sound a bit desperate, and he tilted his head a little. “When he shifts on the field, what do you think they’re gonna do, huh? Just keep cheering him on? I can’t stop him from playing, but you can.” He leaned forward, an inch away from the grating that Stiles still had the fingers of one hand tangled in. On instinct, Stiles pulled back, but he realized it didn’t do much to hide his anxiety when Derek glanced down at his chest. Right, wolves could hear heartbeats, why not werewolves?

“And trust me, you want to.”

It was probably the stupidest thing Stiles had ever done, but in that moment, he actually did trust Derek Hale. After all, what else did he have to lose that he would bother lying?

Even while he was getting yanked from the car and chewed out by his dad, Stiles’ brain was in a whole other ballpark. He knew it was the least of their worries, but the fact that Derek hadn’t reacted at all to Stiles’ claims that the girl was some special type of werewolf had Stiles wondering again how she could have been turned into an actual wolf. Since he was in charge of driving, he put Scott up to the Googling routine, to see if there was any mention of wolfsbane uses in rituals.

Nada, or maybe Scott hadn’t been looking that hard because he seemed to be getting more pissed off by the second. This was supposed to be a good day, with a murderer put behind bars and Beacon Hills saved.

“Are you okay?” Stiles asked, trying to pay attention to the dirt road and Scott’s harsh panting at the same time.

Scott began to groan. “No, no I’m not. I’m so far from being okay.”

Why was this not sinking in for him, when Stiles was pretty damn adapted already? “You know,” he burst out, “You’re gonna have to accept this, Scott, sooner or later.”

“I can’t.”

“Well you’re gonna have to!”

The panting was worse, and suddenly Stiles wasn’t sure they were talking about the same thing. Scott began to gasp, “No, I can’t breathe.” When he threw a hand up to the roof of the Jeep Stiles nearly drove off the road. Not the Jeep, anything but his mom’s Jeep.

When Scott opened Stiles’ backpack, his cry was growly around the edges. “You kept it?”

“What was I supposed to do with it?” He’d meant to examine the wolfsbane rope, maybe use it for his research.

Scott threw his head against the seat and when he turned back to Stiles his eyes were burning gold. “Stop the car.”

Skidding to a standstill, Stiles yanked the backpack from the car and threw it as far into the Preserve as he could. He got it now. Wolfsbane was clearly like kryptonite to werewolves, forcing the wolf to the surface the longer they were exposed to its presence. If you were a dead werewolf, it must force the _whole_ wolf to the top, causing one last shift in death. It was kind of spiritual and sweet, and it didn’t make sense that Derek would bother with something like that for his victim.

If the wolfsbane had affected Scott this badly just by being in the same car as him…how hard must it have been for Derek to plant the wolfsbane around the body? He would have had to spend ages tying all the cordlike roots together. But why?

There was no sound behind him, and Stiles sighed in relief as he spun around, huffing, “Okay, we’re good. You can…” But Scott was gone. This time, without Derek to stop him from hurting anyone.

Stiles’ mind was a whirlwind of questions and fears and the awful feeling that they _really_ shouldn’t have called the cops on Derek before getting the whole story from him. For lack of a better plan, he called dispatch and asked about strange calls, only to be hung up on. He’d already gone through the Preserve twice, looking out the window through the trees to catch a glimpse of Scott’s hoodie or brown curls, when he realized there was one place he could be certain to find Scott.

He’d be at the game.

Sure enough, Stiles found Scott lacing up his shoes in the locker room. At least he looked calm, and non-vicious. Yeah, Derek’s words were ringing in Stiles’ ears, but he had to have faith. Scott was his best friend, and he wasn’t going to hurt anybody. He may have tested Scott’s temper a little with some rambling about stressful topics, but it didn’t go too badly and Stiles was searching for a goddamn win here.

He almost thought they were gonna get it too, when Scott’s new temper came out to play in the form of scoring some frankly amazing goals. For his first two, it actually looked like he was able to stay in control, but then he began swinging his head around at the crowd instead of looking at the game. Scott was losing it, and Stiles was about half a second away from throwing himself on top of the werewolf, if only to give others the time to get away, when Scott zeroed in on the net again and made the winning shot. It was a goal, of course it was, and everything seemed fine, until Scott disappeared from the field and Stiles got held back by the confused expression on his dad’s face on the phone.

Scott was with Allison when Stiles ran into the locker room. He couldn’t decide whether to be angry that he’d been worried for nothing or proud that Scott was getting some action instead of going on a killing spree. Settling on the third option that was regret, Stiles explained what he’d learned once Allison headed out.

“Well, I’ll keep it simple. Medical examiner determines killer of girl to be animal, not human. Derek’s human, not animal. Derek not killer. Derek let out of jail.”

All the happy, slack-jawed, puppy love went out of Scott and he gaped. “Are you kidding?”

“No, and here’s a bigger kick in the ass. My dad ID’d the dead girl, both halves. Her name was Laura Hale.”

“Hale?”

And now Stiles felt the most guilty he’d been since the time he nearly got his dad suspended from duty for flooding the station bathroom and tripping three different officers. “Derek’s sister.”

If he hadn’t been so caught up in helping his dad, this never would have happened. All the signs were there: the wolfbane was like a burial rite, Derek came home because of his sister, he’d stopped Scott from hurting Allison, then saved him when hunters showed up. Stiles had been asking himself for ages where the hell Derek’s sister was, and somehow never made the connection. Besides losing his temper with Scott, and Stiles had to admit he had the mother of all excuses, what with having lost the only remaining member of his family and Scott nearly exposing himself during lacrosse practice, Derek literally hadn’t done _anything_ wrong. Except possibly bite Scott, which Stiles still wasn’t totally convinced about.

The look on Scott’s face prevented Stiles from voicing any of his thoughts out loud. For some reason, Scott was just determined not to like Derek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, one of my goals with writing this rewrite is to provide some background information on things we never got an explanation for in the show. Case in point: The wolfsbane surrounding Laura's grave and the fact that her body was in a wolf form. We're never told what it means or why she full shifts, and it bothered the hell out of me. So I decided to try and come up with answers to these questions.  
> Also, Fun Fact: Derek's line in the show, "When he shifts on the field, what do you think they’re gonna do, huh? Just keep cheering him on?" is actually a reference to the Origin of the show, the 1985 movie "Teen Wolf" where the main character, Scott, shifts on the basketball court in the middle of a game and after a few moments of confused silence, the entire crowd just keeps cheering him on and immediately accepts that he's a werewolf.


	3. Episode 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3, when I started to really get into things and more changes begin to appear. Still nothing that technically changes canon, but I was a little more courageous with this episode.

Stiles only got Sunday off to catch up on sleep and homework before things went even further downhill. While Scott explained his shockingly gory dream of killing Allison and gave Stiles even more worries about his new blood filled imagination, he had the audacity to suggest going to Derek for help. Like a good friend, Stiles swatted him on the back of the head and scolded him, “You forgetting the part where we got him tossed in jail?”

The poor dude just deserved to be left alone, without Scott giving him whiplash by asking for help after claiming Derek had murdered his own sister. The fact that Stiles had helped with that made him nauseous.

So did the school bus covered in blood and the ambulances and cops hovering around the crime scene. Scott had actually caused a crime scene. He’d attacked someone.

Or some _thing_ , Stiles tried to remember. As Scott started to panic, Stiles followed him through the hall toward somewhere safe until Allison wandered in through the front door and Scott seemed to instinctively head her direction. Let her calm him down, while Stiles tried to figure out what happened. 

But the local officers all knew Stiles and wouldn’t let him get in a hundred foot radius, so he headed to class instead. Best case scenario, Scott just went on a nighttime run and caught an animal. Of course, that also meant in order to come up with all that blood he’d ripped the poor thing to shreds.

But then Harley saw an ambulance pull up to the back parking lot through Harris’ window, and the whole class watched paramedics run out and return with a stretcher. A limp figure lay across it in a distinctly human shape.

“That’s not a rabbit…” came Scott’s whisper from Stiles’ side.

At the last second, the man jumped upright, grabbing onto the paramedic’s shoulders, and even though they couldn’t hear him, it was obvious he was screaming. Instinctively, the entire class jumped back. Stiles pulled Scott a few feet away to whisper, “This is good, this is _good_. He got up, he’s not dead. Dead guys can’t do that.”

Scott didn’t look reassured in the least. “Stiles…I did that.”

Stiles didn’t know how to find a silver lining at the moment.

Less than ten seconds after class, Scott made another push for seeing Derek. Stiles only managed to fend him off until lunch and when Scott started in again, Stiles’ temple began to pulse painfully.

“He could help me remember what happened!” Scott argued, leading the way to their usual table.

Stiles tried to keep his voice a little quieter than Scott’s. “But dreams aren’t memories. You said it was a dream.”

Dropping his tray onto the table, Scott pulled off his backpack and stored it in the chair next to him, while Stiles took a seat opposite. “Then it _wasn’t_ a dream,” Scott said. “Something happened last night and I can’t remember what.”

“What makes you so sure that Derek even has all the answers? Maybe he’s just as lost as you are.”

Maybe Stiles was underplaying Derek’s obvious knowledge a little bit. After all, Derek had known to use Allison’s jacket to lure Scott to the woods. Had known about the hunters, about the ritual with the wolfsbane. He basically lived in a whole other world of werewolfness and was probably an absolute fount of lycanthropic wisdom. Stiles just didn’t want Scott to think that, because then he’d _never_ leave Derek alone.

They’d gotten the guy _arrested_ , for Christ’s sake. They’d dug up his freaking sister. It was honestly lucky that Derek was too old to be in high school, because if Stiles were forced to share classes with the guy after what he’d done to Derek, he’d have left the country and gone to stay with his Polish grandmother. If he couldn’t communicate with her, he would never have to tell her what he’d done.

But Stiles was screwed, because like a dog with a bone—and Stiles couldn’t believe how unfair it was that making that joke was probably speciest or something—Scott wouldn’t give it up.

“Because! During the full moon, he wasn’t changed. He was in total control, while I was running around in the middle of the night attacking some totally innocent guy.”

Stiles argued reflexively, narrowly remembering not to crush the orange in his hand. “You don’t know that!”

“I don’t _not_ know it!” Staring down at his plate, Scott puffed out, “I can’t go out with Allison. I have to cancel.”

A good half of Stiles’ soul _sang_ at the declaration. Their entire understanding of the world was being brought to its knees: surely dating could wait.

And yet. It hit differently than if Scott had said it before the party, like Stiles had wanted him to. This wasn’t Scott being practical, this was him punishing himself. He honestly thought he’d nearly _killed_ someone, and was trying to discipline himself by removing the one thing that was making him truly happy at the moment. Stiles just couldn’t stand for that.

“No, you’re not cancelling, okay? Just ask her if you can postpone or something, until we get this all figured out.”

“Until you get what all figured out?” A neatly organized tray of cobb salad, an apple, and a bottle of water clinked lightly onto the table on Scott’s left side, soon followed by Lydia Martin sitting in the empty chair.

Lydia. Lydia Martin. Lydia Martin had not only heard Stiles talk, but was asking him a real question of her own accord. Stiles immediately choked on his own spit.

As if following their queen bee, a group of teens descended on the table, filling in the empty spaces that Stiles usually covered with late homework when he was done eating. Brian, Jackson’s favourite lackey, took the head of the table while Danny, Jackson’s best friend, sat on Stiles’ right. At his left appeared a nameless girl Stiles had only ever caught glimpses of following Lydia around, and across from her, taking over the seat Scott had been using for his backpack, was Allison.

Oh, okay. That made sense. They were being incorporated into the group by association. Just as Scott had scarlet-nerded Stiles, Allison was dragging them upward in the high school hierarchy. Cool.

Testing out his new status as popular kid adjacent, Stiles tilted his head over to the pretty brunette on his left and nodded smoothly. This kind of stuff was like coordinating alliances between countries. If Stiles was careful, maybe he could—and no. She barely met his gaze before grimacing and stabbing at her salad. Ouch.

Stiles held back an awkward cough and turned his gaze away, inadvertently meeting Danny’s eyes on his other side. Again, Stiles nodded, and Danny immediately looked away. Rude. It wasn’t like Stiles was—okay, maybe that _had_ been his “I’m hitting on you” nod, but still. Double ouch.

Wait, was Stiles not attractive to gay guys?

Watching Jackson interact with his little minion when he arrived at the table was like watching a nature documentary.

“Get up,” Jackson ordered.

Brian huffed in annoyance. “How come you never ask Danny to get up?”

Without missing a beat, Danny swung his head over. “Because I don’t stare at his girlfriend’s coinslot.” He grinned, and Brian lifted his tray to go sit at the far end of the table instead. Like getting kicked to the edge of the feeding frenzy. Yeesh.

“So I hear they’re saying it’s some kind of animal attack,” Danny continued, “probably a cougar?”

Jackson leaned back in his newly commandeered chair. “I heard mountain lion.”

Just before Stiles could jump in with a correction, Lydia said, “A cougar _is_ a mountain lion.”

Stiles froze. So did Lydia. Then she added, “Isn’t it?”

Just like that the moment was gone. Stiles grinned down at where he was scrolling through news sites on his phone. So, the real Lydia wasn’t completely buried in fashion and popularity. Stiles had known it couldn’t be, not with her grades, but it was nice to see a glimpse of it.

The slight uplift in his mood was ruined at the discovery that not only was the victim of the attack _not_ a homeless tweaker like Jackson had suggested, but he was a bus driver. Scott’s old bus driver.

Stiles was all for being pragmatic and waiting for the evidence, but even he couldn’t deny how things were piling up. The coincidences were just way too…coincidental.

Of course, then Lydia changed the subject to one that Scott really needed to deal with, and Stiles’ thought process got completely derailed.

“Can we talk about something slightly more fun, please? Like…oh, where are we going tomorrow night?” she chirped, leaning over slightly to look at Allison, who seemed to be choking on a green bean.

Immediately, Stiles stared hard at Scott’s head until he made eye contact and twisted his lips as best he could to warn him, shifted them from side to side to emulate the vigorous shaking of his head that he couldn’t actually do. They needed to shut this conversation down, _now_. Postponing a date was bad enough, but a _group_ thing? Scott wouldn’t survive the night!

But Scott looked completely blown out of the water, and the conversation basically moved through the motions without him until Jackson was whining about needing actual competition at bowling. Stiles actually saw the moment Scott’s eyes hardened at the challenge.

“Yes. In fact, I’m a great bowler.”

Scott was doomed.

“You’re a _terrible_ bowler!” Stiles cried as they walked down the hall.

“I know! I’m such an idiot.”

“God, it was like watching a car wreck,” Stiles continued. “I mean, first it turned into the whole group date thing, and then out of nowhere comes that _phrase_.”

Scott looked over and intoned, “Hang out.”

Stiles buried his face in his hands for a moment before exclaiming, “You don’t _hang out_ with hot girls, okay? It’s like death. Once it’s hanging out, you might as well be her gay best friend. You and Danny can start hanging out.”

Danny certainly hadn’t avoided _Scott’s_ gaze at lunch. They were all first line buddies. A little bitter, Stiles griped, “I don’t think Danny likes me very much.”

A step ahead of him, Scott was mumbling about his own issues, but Stiles forged onward with the question burning in his mind. “Am I not attractive to gay guys?”

Scott just stared down at his phone. “Now I’m gonna be late for work.”

As he ran down the hall, Stiles called out, “Wait, Scott, you didn’t—am I attractive to gay guy—” but Scott was gone, so Stiles just splayed his hands and finished quietly, “You didn’t answer my question.”

All of Stiles’ effort and Scott went off to go see Derek after work anyway, ignoring Stiles’ warnings and not even telling him about it until he was standing on Stiles’ doorstep gushing about needing a ride back to the school. He seemed so hopeful, Stiles sent a silent “Thank you” to Derek and took him to the bus.

Normally, Scott was the getaway driver, even though he wasn’t seventeen yet, because Stiles was the one who just _had_ to involve himself in things he shouldn’t. Stiles wasn’t really enjoying the role reversal as Scott hopped the fence, leaving Stiles to sit in the car, especially after Scott’d left him behind to go see Derek.

What Scott said he saw when he came scurrying back into the car didn’t make any sense, but he sounded sure enough that Stiles once again teetered on the edge of understanding. “Why would Derek help you remember that _he_ attacked the driver?” he asked, already coming up with hypothetical answers as they shot out of the parking lot and away from the security guard.

He let one slip, though it kind of burned coming out. “It’s gotta be a pack thing.” Derek didn’t have a pack anymore, maybe he was trying to create a new one?

“What do you mean?”

“Like an initiation, you do the kill together.”

As soon as Scott was reassured that he didn’t actually try to kill the driver, he spaced off again. Yes, how wonderful that he could go on another date with the daughter of a man that shot him with a crossbow. Stiles was busy enjoying the chance to live another day without fear that his best friend would kill him on accident.

The best Stiles could do with his time once he dropped Scott off at home was to actually do his homework, then throw his lacrosse uniform into the wash and play some LOTRO. He’d been gone so damn long he was about to get kicked out of his kinship, but after flying through a few skirmishes with the kin-members that were online, Stiles was back in the groove of it. There was something remarkably soothing about fighting _imaginary_ creatures instead worrying about _real_ ones. It was also nice that there were no actual werewolves in the game, because now the thought of fighting a character that shared the same species as his best friend made Stiles a little uneasy.

—

The next day was, dare Stiles say it, easy. Scott was ecstatic about getting to go on the date with Allison, even if it _was_ a group thing. Stiles was able to assuage his worries about bowling with some blind confidence that if being a werewolf made Scott magically awesome at lacrosse, surely it’d help with something as simple as rolling a ball in a straight line. As a result, Scott spent the entire school day passing notes and texting Allison with the widest grin on his face.

That left Stiles to brood quietly about their unspoken issue. If what Scott saw was true, Derek was the one who killed the bus driver. Only, why the hell would he do that? What grudge did Derek have against an old guy who drove a school bus? After a quick Google, Stiles confirmed that Mr. Meyers hadn’t even _been_ a bus driver when Derek was in school, six years ago he worked in insurance. It wasn’t until Stiles and Scott were halfway through middle school that he became a driver and started taking Scott home when his mom’s schedule didn’t line up with classes. Since Stiles was usually in detention, his own dad gave him ride, but couldn’t get Scott as well.

Maybe Derek was trying to get back at Scott for getting him arrested? But he’d never know Meyers was Scott’s old driver unless he did some serious research, and who would put that much effort into revenge? Okay, so Stiles would, but Derek probably didn’t have a damn computer. It just didn’t make any sense. That, along with Derek trying to keep Scott from hurting anybody on the full moon. Wouldn’t that have been the perfect time for this initiation thing?

After school, Stiles spent about an hour uselessly looking up how wolves join each others’ packs before giving up and going back to gaming. Scott texted a couple times, starting off totally wrecked from embarrassing himself and ending ecstatic and gushing more about Allison than Stiles honestly needed to ever read. Seriously, was there a way to bleach his phone screen?

He was halfway through dinner with his dad when the phone rang and Noah left for the hospital. Rather than call Scott’s phone, which Stiles was beginning to think didn’t even display his calls anymore, Stiles headed over to deliver the news in person. He nearly got a bat to the head when he scared Melissa coming through Scott’s bedroom window, but the terror was actually the normal kind that didn’t come from slashing claws or glowing eyes. It was hard not to enjoy the exasperated, but relaxed tone Scott’s mom used as she wished them goodnight.

“My dad left for the hospital fifteen minutes ago. It’s the bus driver,” Stiles admitted once they were alone, leaning on his knees. “They said he succumbed to his wounds.”

Scott blinked at him from his chair. “Succumbed?”

“Scott, he’s dead.”

That nice feeling Stiles had been desperately holding on to went out the window along with Scott. Stiles didn’t even realize until after Scott was gone that he blamed Derek for it and was probably hunting him down. God, how he wished they could keep Scott calm enough to have real conversations. All this running and fury, and Stiles wasn’t feeling it right now. A guy had just died, and his dad had looked positively haunted when he hung up the phone.

Once again, it was Stiles’ fault that Derek was going to be dealing with trouble, but this time he hoped he could catch up and lessen the damage. He’d yet to test if his Jeep was faster than a werewolf, but the drive to Derek’s house wasn’t going to work for that experiment. It was too twisty, and while Stiles was stuck taking the long way, Scott got to dash in a straight line through the trees, with all his stupid werewolf reflexes to keep him from running into things.

There were already the sounds of Scott’s shouting coming from inside, but Stiles didn’t stop to think and barely remembered to turn off the car before racing toward the ruined house. Scott met him on the way out, mad dashing into him and knocking him backwards into the dirt. The experience wouldn’t have been pleasant on a good day, but Stiles still had bruises up and down his back from being slammed into walls and then falling into concrete floors. The groan that escaped was low and agonizing, as new bruises blossomed and old ones were renewed in the worst way.

“Shit, Stiles, you okay?” Scott asked. He wasn’t even out of breath, but when he crawled off, Stiles could see that his shirt had claw marks. Even with the skin underneath completely healed, Stiles still panicked.

Pushing at Scott’s shirt to get a better look, Stiles gasped, “Forget me dude, what about you? Did he hurt you?” Maybe it was a bit overprotective, but Scott was his _brother_.

Seemingly done with the situation, Scott backed up and stood. “I’m fine. Can I get a ride home?”

“Actually, I needed to talk to Derek. I thought we could all—”

“No way. And you shouldn’t be here without me, so let’s go.” With a too-strong grip, Scott grabbed Stiles’ wrist and pulled him up, nearly throwing him face down in the opposite direction. Scott kept his grasp to prevent the second fall, and it only served to yank Stiles’ own body weight against his joint.

Stiles was sure it was sprained now, but he bit back the yelp of pain as he balanced out. “Dude, I don’t really need your permission. Don’t worry, I’ll talk to him myself and catch you up later. Either wait here or head home, I’m good.”

That was all it took, apparently, and Scott just nodded at him before running back down the path at a full sprint. Once he was out of sight, Stiles gave in and cradled his wrist against his abdomen, cursing softly. It wasn’t too bad if he didn’t move it, but a brace and some ibuprofen were in order. Plus, Stiles was going to have to sleep on his stomach for a fucking week.

There was no point in announcing himself to Derek, so Stiles just pushed the door open with his good hand and took a small step inside.

It smelled. Not like a squatters place, all human odor and dirty laundry and food gone bad. But like a bonfire that had burned too fast and left more charred wood than ash behind. The floor beneath Stiles’ sneakers was steady and didn’t even creak despite their condition, but the walls were mostly crumbled and the patches of plywood that tried to block off the separate room to the right of the front door were marked with graffiti. The wall to his left was smashed through, splintered boards scattered across the floor and sticking out sharply from the remaining supports. That must’ve been some fight.

Standing in what could have been a living room, Derek Hale still fumed. His features were human, but he was panting and his grey shirt was soaked with sweat around the neck. The leather jacket Stiles had come to associate with him was tossed in a corner.

Derek didn’t say anything, and Stiles couldn’t think of a greeting that didn’t sound way too flippant for the situation. So he took a couple more steps into the room, and picked up the jacket. Forgetting his new injury for a moment, Stiles tried to swipe away the dirt and dust on it, but he squeaked at the pain. Finally he resorted to shaking it lamely and holding it out, an olive branch.

To his surprise, Derek didn’t throw him into or through a wall, didn’t even snatch the jacket back and run. He just slowly reached out and lifted it from Stiles’ hand, then shook it properly and slipped it back on. Bushy eyebrows furrowed, and Derek’s eyes flickered blue, but those were the only outward signs of the anger as he muttered, “He left.”

“Good, he was in a shit mood anyway,” Stiles managed, like Derek didn’t already know that.

But Derek shook his head viciously. “No, I mean he left you here. With me.”

Confused as to why Derek was stating the obvious, Stiles just said, “Uh, yeah? I told him to.”

“You’re the closest thing he has to pack at the moment, and he left you alone with the guy that just sliced open his chest.” Derek sounded offended, but not for himself. For Stiles.

It only took a second for Stiles to realize the significance. Derek lost his whole family, it had to sting seeing Scott put Stiles in supposed danger so easily. Still, he tried to change the subject, answering, “Speaking of, why’d you do that?” He was careful not to let any judginess get into his tone. Fuck knew he’d judged Derek way too harshly lately. “I mean, I’m assuming you had a reason. Scott was pretty pissed when he left to come here.”

Now Derek was watching Stiles, searching him up and down like he couldn’t believe such a puny human was daring to question him. Then he shrugged abruptly. “He was attacking me, I needed him to stop. And I needed him to remember what really happened to the bus driver.” He sighed then, the most hollow sound Stiles had heard in years. “Look, I’m not going to repeat everything I told him, so why don’t you just—”

“There’s another, isn’t there?” Stiles asked. “Another werewolf is in Beacon Hills.”

Slowly, Derek nodded. “How did you know?”

Stiles actually managed to crack a smile, and he mindlessly massaged the muscles on his wrist as he started, “It just wasn’t adding up. I’m pretty positive you weren’t the one to…actually, first, man, I’m sorry.” Derek’s head jerked up from where he’d let it turn to the floor, and Stiles tried to use their eye contact to send another unspoken message, like he had outside the party. Only this one was the purest regret he could muster, and it wasn’t hard to find it. “I’ve should’ve seen…that wolfsbane was a burial rite, wasn’t it? I should never have dug—” he choked a little, actually thinking for the first time about what he’d done. “I should never have dug up her grave. We shouldn’t have called the cops. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry I didn’t stop Scott when he found out Meyers died. I didn’t realize he’d come blasting in here.”

When Derek just nodded again, Stiles took it as a cue to get his explanation over with and get the hell out. “Anyway, I realized that wasn’t you. Couldn’t be. It just didn’t add up. And considering all the control I’ve seen you have, I don’t think you bit Scott by accident. He was fucking chomped, and whoever got your sister must’ve tried to get him too. And the bus driver, there was literally no reason for you to have killed him, since you’ve been trying to keep Scott from hurting anyone this whole time.” He blew out a breath. “So, next logical step is that someone else did all three things, and since there were wolf hairs on…since Scott was bitten by a wolf, it just makes sense.”

There was no response, and Derek’s face was frustratingly blank, so Stiles backed up and stuck a thumb in the air to point. “I’m just gonna…” But the burning in his chest still hadn’t gone away, and goddammit, he knew Scott would have said it if he could right now. “And look, I know it’s hard to believe, but I know Scott’s sorry too. He’s not like this normally. He’s actually more like a freaking golden retriever than a wolf. It’s just that this bite is totally wrecking him and neither of us are sure what to do about it.” Then, when visions of his mom’s old reminders about behavior and excuses floated to mind, he amended, “It’s not an excuse, he shouldn’t have freaked out on you, but it’s a reason at least.”

Still no answer. With nothing left to say, Stiles turned around properly and headed to the door. He was stepping over more shards of panelling to get out of the living room when shoes scuffed the floor and Derek spoke.

“I can help him, but he still won’t listen to me.” His voice was tight, and frustrated, and it made Stiles laugh.

“That’s kind of hilarious, cus’ I’m supposed to be the one with authority issues: son of the sheriff and all. But, yeah, no. Scott really hates when adults tell him what to do, it’s a thing with him.”

He hadn’t looked back at Derek, but suddenly there was a presence behind him, and he spun around. Derek was only slightly taller than him, in all actuality, and without the apparently permanent scowl on his face he’d actually look kind of nice. With the scowl he was still gorgeous, but Stiles could almost remember he had the ability to smile if he focused on Derek’s multi-colored eyes instead of what was still furrowed above them.

Taking a deliberate sniff, Derek’s nose wrinkled in disgust as he zeroed in on Stiles’ shoulders. “You’re in pain.”

“What?”

“I was wrong when I told Scott he was going to hurt someone. He already has, hasn’t he? More than once.” His knowing look made Stiles shiver, and he tried to back up a step, but tripped on something. He’d have landed on his ass if Derek hadn’t reached out and grabbed his bare forearm to hold him up. The difference between his and Scott’s grip was stark. Derek used no less, and certainly no more strength than he needed to keep Stiles upright. There wouldn’t even be the tiniest of bruises.

Feeling his face going hot, Stiles stammered, “It—it’s not his fault. He doesn’t even really know he did it, he just hasn’t figured out how to turn the werewolf strength down yet.”

Derek still hadn’t let go, and he used his leverage to pull Stiles a little closer. “Do you know how I knew you were injured?” he breathed, voice just this side of growly. “I can smell it. The old bruises and the new. Scott should be able to too. Even if he doesn’t know what it means, he should know something’s wrong.”

It took a moment for Stiles to realize that the pain he and Derek were talking about, was fading. It didn’t go away completely, but the edge was taken off as though Stiles had already downed painkillers. Even his wrist felt better.

Before he could question it, Derek shoved him away, albeit carefully so Stiles didn’t fall again. “If he’s going to have a human around, he should be more careful. Don’t hide it when Scott hurts you, or he’ll never learn to stop. He should be able to control himself.”

Then he walked away, past Stiles and up the wide staircase, turning to the right and disappearing down a hall into the part of the house that was still standing,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While this fic is NOT a slash fic, or even pre-slash at this point, it IS Stiles and Derek-centric. I wanted to focus on them and their backgrounds and the things we missed in the show. I love their dynamic, platonic or romantic, so I just couldn't help adding in this scene.
> 
> I hope you guys are enjoying this, your comments are giving me LIFE. I'm pumped to post the next chapter next week.


	4. Episode 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as I hope you've realized, as I get further and further into this rewrite, the liberties I take with different characters are going to snowball. I hope to really expand on characters that didn't get much building within the show (or that had behavior that just didn't make sense to me), but I don't deny that my bias means some other characters will probably get the short stick. DLDR, you know?  
> Anyway, welcome to the "Magic Bullet" episode, one that I was absolutely Ecstatic to get to work on, because so much time is spent on Stiles (and Derek).  
> I wanted to thank my beautiful beta [Madeline](https://beacon911.tumblr.com) for helping me through the nitty gritty details. Her patience is neverending and I'm forever grateful for her listening to me scan and rescan episodes to find 10 millisecond screenshots of phone screens and information that I want without blowing up at me. Also much thanks to the lovely [PerseShow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerseShow) for putting her keen eye to work correcting my grammar in these earlier chapters.  
> Enjoy the chapter!

Taking Derek’s advice was hard, and kind of embarrassing, but Stiles forwent his plan of only wearing the brace to sleep, and kept it on the next day when his wrist still twinged while getting dressed. When Scott asked about it, Stiles admitted, in as manly a tone as he could, “You pulled too hard helping me up yesterday. I don’t have the healing factor, or the strength factor. I have none of the factors, so just…could you be more careful?”

Scott had promised, and it should have been enough for Stiles, but a tiny bitter part of him wondered why _he_ was the one Scott kept taking his powers out on. Allison was supposed to be the one Scott couldn’t control himself around. Not that Stiles wanted her to be the one getting hurt, god no. Stiles may have had a wider gray area in his morals than most, but he couldn’t stand to see innocent people hurting. He just didn’t understand why Scott could handle himself around Allison, but not his best friend.

Thankfully, the day after that his wrist felt fine, not sprained after all, and his bruises were a dull ache instead of their usual throbbing. So of course he pushed his luck and pestered Scott with questions about the new werewolf in town. Scott had been the one to explain the Beta versus Alpha thing, and Stiles was still reeling from it.

“Since Derek’s not the Alpha, not the one who bit you, who is?” he asked.

Scott shrugged, way less interested than Stiles would have liked. “I don’t know.”

Thinking for a second, Stiles went for another. “So the one you saw in the bus was the Alpha?”

“I don’t know.”

The last question was the big one. “Does Allison’s father know about the Alpha?”

Scott swung around to face him. “I don’t know!” This time his voice was loud enough to get the other students’ attention. There had been no eye flash, no teeth, not even the pointy ears, but it was still way stronger than Scott’s usual temper.

After warning Scott that if he was going to keep dating the daughter of a werewolf hunter, he better damn well take every opportunity he got, Stiles backed off. The rest of the day was actually kind of peaceful, and Stiles tried to enjoy it.

He hopped in the Jeep after school fully prepared to head home and play some Call of Duty, but ended up nearly running Derek over, who walked in front of his car with one arm up like he was calling a damn taxi. Stiles slammed on the brake. Through the windshield he could see Derek waver badly for a moment, before collapsing.

Momentary shock had Stiles throwing his hands up. “You’ve got to be kidding me. This guy’s having—” Derek was the most goddamn unlucky dude Stiles had ever met, including himself. Behind him cars were piling up and honking; the rest of the student body eager to get home.

When Scott ran by, it yanked Stiles to his senses and he climbed out of the Jeep. Scott was already questioning Derek’s downed form.

“What are you doing here?”

Derek was gasping for breath like just staying conscious was work, but he gritted out, “I was shot.”

Stiles swayed a little from his spot beside Scott, caught between wanting to call an ambulance and keeping Derek away from the public eye. “He’s not looking so good, dude,” he worried.

But Scott just looked confused, “Why aren’t you healing?”

“I can’t. It was—It was a different kind of bullet.”

Eager and curious, Stiles couldn’t help asking, “A silver bullet?”

Even through his pain, Derek managed to level him with a glare. “No, you idiot.” Which, rude, Stiles was doing his best with what he had here.

“Wait, wait,” Scott muttered, “That’s what she meant when she said you had forty-eight hours.”

Derek actually looked scared. “What? Who—who said forty-eight hours?”

“The one who shot you.” Scott said, as though he wasn’t revealing some pretty crazy information. Like how he was there when Derek got shot, and he didn’t do anything or even tell Stiles about it.

Suddenly, Derek spasmed in pain and curled his left hand into a violent fist. As he tried to take deeper breaths, his eyes began to flash blue, flickering for a moment, then keeping their glow.

“What are you doing? Stop that!” Scott scolded, looking around like someone could see, even though they were being given a pretty wide berth by everyone.

Teeth clenched tight, Derek couldn’t even manage a good snarl. “I’m trying to tell you, I can’t.”

“Derek, get up!” And god, couldn’t Scott see that wasn’t going to work? The dude could barely breathe.

Apparently he did, because Scott went behind Derek and hooked his hands under Derek’s armpits. “I’m gonna put him in your car.”

Stiles took another quick look around to make sure no one looked more suspicious than curious, and listened to the conversation happening in the car halfheartedly. He only turned his attention back when he heard Scott ask, “Why should I help you?”

The idea that Scott would ever even think of denying a guy who just got _shot_ help, floored Stiles, and he barely caught Derek’s response.

“Because you need me.”

And Stiles couldn’t fucking take it. He slammed into the Jeep and glared at Scott. “No, because he’s a fucking person, and he needs help. Go find the goddamn bullet, Scott.”

He peeled out of the parking lot as quickly as he could, both trying to find an outlet for his frustration and wanting to make sure no one stopped him and saw Derek’s condition. The werewolf looked like he was on a bad trip, but he’d relaxed a little now that he wasn’t really in the open, and it seemed to be keeping him from spasming any more.

Unsure of what to really do, or where to take a poisoned, half unconscious werewolf, Stiles headed for the Preserve. It was a good ten minute drive in the middle of the night, but with school out there was serious traffic. After fifteen minutes, Stiles texted Scott, only to hear that he needed more time. Stiles got a bad feeling that finding the bullet wasn’t going to be the problem, rather than getting Scott to fucking focus.

Beside him, Derek had come back to reality enough to remove his jacket, revealing a dark grey henley that would totally work for him if he weren’t chalk white and sweating like he had a virus. “Hey, try not to bleed out on my seats, okay? We’re almost there.” It came out a bit snarkier than he meant it to, but Derek didn’t seem capable of noticing.

As it was, he barely mumbled, “Almost where?”

“Your house.” It was the only place that would work, with Stiles’ dad home and Scott at Allison’s.

Derek perked up with anxiety. “What? No, you can’t take me there.”

Stiles balked, “I can’t take you to your own house?”

“Not when I can’t protect myself.” It was a good point, as Derek’s words were slurring like he’d had a few too many shots.

This was getting to be a bit too much, and Stiles pulled over to the side of the road. When he’d turned off the ignition, he shifted in his seat. “What happens if Scott doesn’t find your little magic bullet? Are you dying?”

“Not yet, I have a last resort.”

Stiles felt like he was going to explode. From this angle he could kind of see what about Derek rankled Scott so much. Just the never ending one-liners that sounded carefully chosen to scare the crap out of Stiles were enough, but the complete lack of surprise at any of the bad shit happening to him was infuriating and made Stiles want to wrap Derek forcefully in at least three blankets and hide him away from the world. Absolutely no one should be this desensitized to being _shot_.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t the same as what Scott felt, but Stiles didn’t really care at the moment.

He was still on a verbal rampage. “What do you mean? What last resort?”

When Derek tugged back his sleeve to reveal the actual wound, Stiles’ ire went from 100 to nauseous in no time. He had been shot, but the bullet wasn’t actually in his arm anymore. It’d left a circular hole that Derek’s body was clearly have issues closing properly because it was still just gray-tinged meat that oozed without his last layer of skin to stop it. Long lines of red-black liquid dribbled down his arm and onto the floor of Stiles’ car.

Holding back a gag, Stiles switched his attention to the steering wheel, the radio, anything, to stop from puking or passing out. “Oh my god, what is that? That’s not how bullet wounds are supposed to work.”

Derek was panting again with either the effort of staying awake or pain, and his words came out in forced huffs, “Start the car. Now.”

“I don’t think you should be barking orders with the way you look, okay? We don’t even have anywhere to go, and if I really didn’t want you in this car right now, I could probably drag your little werewolf ass out into the middle of the road and leave you for dead.” He never would, but that wasn’t the point. Why wouldn’t Derek acknowledge how screwed he was?

Probably because even like this Derek was fucking terrifying. Not breaking eye contact, he promised, “Start the car, or I’m gonna rip your throat out,” there was the tiniest pause, “with my teeth.”

The number of images that came to mind was both unsurprising and annoying, because ninety percent of them had nothing to do with actually being hurt, and Stiles was way too scared to be thinking those thoughts.

Rather than come up with what would definitely have been the worst comeback of Stiles’ life, he swung his head over and started the damn car. They still didn’t have anywhere to go, but Stiles bypassed the turn off to the Preserve anyway and just kept driving through the less inhabited parts of town, thoughts racing.

When he couldn’t help it anymore, he glanced over at Derek, who was either getting used to the pain, or was so far gone he couldn’t feel it anymore. “I don’t get it, if whatever this poison is takes two days to kill you, why are you so sick already? You got shot last night, right?”

“No,” Derek answered, apparently not in the mood to properly argue. “The night before.”

If he wasn’t driving, Stiles would have banged his head on the steering wheel in disbelief. “Are you kidding me? This happened after I left? You spent an entire day dealing with this by yourself before you tried to come find one of us?”

Surprisingly, Derek actually almost looked guilty for a second, before the emotion was washed away. He didn’t offer up an excuse or apology, just stared out at the road.

Unwilling to deal with the silence, Stiles pushed again. “How did this even happen? Did someone come to your house?”

“I was trying to track the Alpha. I caught a scent outside the house, going a different direction than Scott, but it was too faint to make out anything other than werewolf. So I followed it into town, but then I couldn’t tell what was really Scott and what was the Alpha. I was in the warehouse district when I caught up with it, but then someone shot me and I had to get out.” Derek worked the words out a few at a time until he was done, repeating the same sentence structure over and over. He did this, but then that. It kind of sounded like the story of this dude’s life.

He sounded like some Derek Hale version of embarrassed, and Stiles tried to reassure him. “Dude, you got shot. I think that’s pretty solid grounds for a retreat. And I don’t blame you for not being able to track it. Normally Scott’s pretty predictable, and I could help you narrow down which areas are probably him, but with all the nighttime trips he’s been taking, who knows what trails he’s left around town.”

That seemed to soothe Derek, or maybe he was just getting worse, because he closed his eyes and stilled. Only the occasional tightening of his clenched fist hinted that he hadn’t passed out, or was he able to do that while unconscious?

“Hey, dude, stay with me. Is this seriously what hunters do? Just search for the nearest werewolf and plug them full of holes?”

The sound of his voice seemed to drag Derek back into wakefulness. “They’re supposed…to have a code. Not supposed to hurt us unless we’ve spilt human blood.”

“But you didn’t do anything!”

“I said _supposed_ to have a code. Not everybody…follows it.”

After that Stiles stopped asking questions, hoping it would let Derek get his breath back, if that was even possible at this point.

Stiles had been alternating between driving and parking in inconspicuous spots along the road for the last two hours. Two hours of wondering when Derek was going to straight up die in the car next to him. All of Stiles’ calls to Scott were going straight to voicemail, and at almost six o’clock, he sent another text into the void, with no response.

_Derek not looking good._

Because he wasn’t. Stiles couldn’t tell if the tiny naps or meditations Derek was doing were helping or hurting, but they were becoming more frequent. He hadn’t figured out anything else to say after their brief conversation, but it didn’t look like Derek was up for talking anyway. His skin was pale and rubbery, with a sheen of sweat that actually carried the scent of death. Stiles still couldn’t look at the bullet hole.

He was running low on gas, without the slightest chance of stopping at a gas station in case someone saw Derek, so Stiles pulled off the road again. They sat in silence, grateful for the early sunset that would hide them from prying joggers’ eyes, until Stiles finally got up the nerve to ask the question that’d been burning on his tongue since Derek said the words ‘I got shot’.

“What does it feel like?”

“Like _hell_!” Derek snapped. 

Stiles couldn’t even be pissy about the aggressive reaction. Who the hell asked what a bullet wound felt like, let alone while the person was still injured? Most of the reason Stiles had taken so long to ask was because he knew how sadistic and weird it sounded. But he was still curious.

His dad had been shot a couple times, in the line of duty. Nothing life threatening, but every time, Stiles had waited in the hospital until they let his dad leave and had forcibly nursed him back to health with sarcasm and the occasional carton of curly fries as a reward when he finished whatever physical therapy that was required. He wanted to know what his dad had been through.

After a few minutes of tense silence, Derek spoke again. “Getting shot, or this?”

“Both?”

“Getting shot stung, and then it burned until I got the bullet out. This…” He petered off, glaring at his arm like it had betrayed him by being susceptible to whatever poison that was at work. “It’s like pins and needles, but the kind you get in your feet, that make just twitching your leg feel impossible and like hell.”

A surprisingly good visual for a guy that didn’t seem to like sentences with more than three words. Or at least, not when he was around Scott. Which, yet again, what the fuck was Scott doing?

As if answering his swearing, a few minutes later the phone rang.

“Hey, I still haven’t found it,” Scott whispered.

“Tell me that was just a really bad joke, it’s been two and a half hours, Scott. What am I supposed to do with him?” When Stiles had told Scott to take every opportunity while dating Allison, this _wasn’t_ what he’d meant.

Derek had woken up for the phone call, probably excited by the sound of Scott’s voice. He stared resolutely down at his hand and clenched it some more. At this point Stiles was a bit worried about him breaking his own fingers.

Still whispering, Scott fumbled. “Take him…somewhere, anywhere.”

“And by the way, he’s starting to smell.” The words slipped out, unbidden.

“Like what?”

Stiles didn’t even need to take a refresher breath. “Like death.”

Then he looked over and met Derek’s eyes. Shit. Right, tact was just not Stiles’ area of expertise. If Stiles could smell it, it had to be overwhelming for Derek.

Biting his lip, Stiles was distracted from his guilt when Scott came up with an idea. “Take him to the animal clinic,” he suggested.

Getting the details, Stiles handed over the phone, way less nervous about sticking his hand in Derek’s face than he probably should have been. “You’re not gonna believe where he’s telling me to take you.”

Derek took the phone sullenly, and Stiles listened to his half of the conversation. The incentive Derek revealed was mildly terrifying in a way that was beginning to seem like Stiles’ new default emotional state. When he repeated his threat cum plea of “You need me,” Stiles swallowed around a hard spot in his throat and turned the Jeep in the direction of the vet.

“That shouldn’t matter,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

Derek’s voice was listless, but his hearing was fine. “What?”

Stiles grumbled, “Whether or not we need you. I don’t get why Scott’s being so shitty about this.” Smacking his hand on the steering wheel a little harder than necessary, he vented his frustration. “I don’t get why this turned him into such an ass. The dude has a part time job at the vet’s, for christ’s sake. He cries every time they have to give a dog stitches, and needs coddling for a week when a pet gets put down. He’s not _like_ this.”

“I’m sure he’s not,” Derek replied, managing to sound almost worryingly calm, bordering on hazy. “I know that this isn’t his fault, Stiles. Getting bitten is stressful, and there are a lot of things you have to learn as a werewolf. Controlling your emotions is the biggest.” He sounded a lot less like the _my way or death_ guy that Scott kept describing, and more like a real person. Or maybe that was the blood loss and poison.

Stiles wasn’t convinced. “You can be angry without being a dick. Like you: you look perpetually angry, but you aren’t a _total_ ass. I saw how you were with Allison, and she’s the daughter of a hunter.”

Was that an actual laugh? “Wrong. I am a complete ass, but I’m good at hiding it when I need to. Even that comes with years of practice. I was born this way, Scott wasn’t. He needs time to adjust that we can’t give him because of this Alpha.”

It was the most light hearted they’d been able to get all afternoon. Lady Gaga lyrics rang in Stiles’ ears as he pulled into the alley behind the clinic. He’d just swung up the garage door when his phone chimed and Stiles checked it quickly before turning to where Derek had collapsed onto a convenient pile of dog food bags.

“Does ‘nordic blue monkshood’ mean anything to you?”

It’d just been a guess, before, that Derek’s time was limited. There was every chance that whoever shot him had just made up the rules, and Stiles had held out hope that after forty-eight hours Derek would work through the poison. He hadn’t actually considered that real mortality was on the table until Derek’s eyes went dark and he panted, “It’s a rare form of wolfsbane. He has to bring me the bullet.”

“Why?” Surely now that they knew what it was, they could mash up some plants and make a cure?

But Derek met his gaze for a second before it flickered down to his arm. “Because I’m gonna die without it.”

Nope, no, not in this lifetime.

Stiles had always been pretty morbid and cynical about the world, ever since he lost his mom. The obsession and curiosity about death had been impossible to ignore, but he tried to own it, to make it less upsetting and more about knowledge seeking than anything else. With his dad as sheriff, Stiles learned how to access all sorts of case files and obituaries and he absorbed everything he could find. He wanted to know why people died, how they could die, what happened to them when they did. Mostly though, he wanted to learn how to prevent it.

Considering how ill he was at just a bullet hole, there was no way Stiles could go into medicine. He liked science, but that also meant playing with blood and chemicals and Stiles just didn’t like the idea of sitting in a lab everyday. He’d latched onto his dad’s career instead. Law enforcement, where not only could he save lives, but where he could put the people at fault in jail and keep them from hurting anyone else. There was no one to blame for dementia, and Stiles wanted someone to blame so much it hurt. Being a cop was the next best thing.

He’d expected to spend years in training before ever going into a high risk situation, but suddenly Stiles’ entire life was a high risk situation. There was a werewolf standing in front of him, dying from a magical poison, and he just wasn’t equipped to walk away from that. Derek Hale was _not_ going to die.

“You got it big guy, one magic bullet coming right up.” Stiles mashed another text in, telling Scott to hurry the hell up, and snagged the spare key.

By the time he had the door open, Derek was seriously struggling. He’d managed to hide the effects pretty well while just sitting in the car and being still, but now that they were moving around again he was flagging badly. Panting again, he started to tug at his shirt, barely lifting the fabric halfway up his chest before losing strength and dropping it again. “Gotta get this off.”

It was clear that Derek wasn’t going to actually ask for help, so Stiles put on his best parental facade and batted Derek’s hands away. “You only need the one arm out, right? Here, let me.”

Derek didn’t complain. He also didn’t make eye contact, like being seen as helpless was something to be ashamed of. Stiles ignored all of that and tugged the thankfully stretchy shirt off Derek’s injured arm. This meant actually getting another glimpse of it, but Stiles was so anxious he didn’t have time to be grossed out. There were black lines running up and down through Derek’s veins, nearly reaching the top of his bicep, and Derek’s whole body was trembling slightly. He didn’t have long.

They crashed into the examination room with Derek stubbornly trying to remove the rest of the shirt and walk at the same time. It wasn’t going too well, and Derek was barely holding himself up, the back of his injured hand propped on Stiles’ shoulder for balance.

While Stiles turned on the lights, Derek stumbled over to the table and dropped his arm down to get a better look. It definitely wasn’t the time for it, but Stiles was never very good at matching his humor to a certain mood. He crossed over to the other side of the cold metal slab and gestured nonchalantly at the oozing disaster that was Derek’s pronator teres, and hell yeah Stiles’d paid attention in biology last year. It was the muscle that lets your palm face your body when you bend your elbow, aka the position Derek’s arm seemed to be stuck in. He probably literally couldn’t lower his arm properly, if that muscle was screwed up and his body wasn’t healing. Would that fix itself if he got better? _When_ he got better.

“You know, that really doesn’t look like anything some echinacea and a good night of sleep couldn’t have taken care of,” Stiles joked.

Apparently Derek had moved past the point of joking because he just said, “When the infection reaches my heart, it’ll kill me.” He turned around and started digging in the drawers, giving Stiles a clean view of a three-spiral tattoo in-between his shoulder blades.

“‘Positivity’ just isn’t in your vocabulary, is it?” Stiles bickered. He’d been all for getting Derek to admit to how serious the situation was while they were in the Jeep, but actually being faced with reality was quickly changing his perspective. Couldn’t they just pretend things were going to be okay, just for like half a second so Stiles’ heart could get under control?

No chance of that apparently, as Derek just kept sifting through what sounded like medicine bottles and rustling plastic. “If he doesn’t get here with the bullet in time…” Derek was gasping now, getting a little hard to hear. “Last resort.”

Stiles was positive he wasn’t going to like the answer when he asked, “Which is?”

And just to make Stiles’ life even more of a horror movie, Derek turned around with a bone saw in his hand, and how did he even know where to find that? Did he smell the metal, or blood that hadn’t been cleaned off properly? “You’re gonna cut off my arm.”

There was a moment where Stiles actually considered that a compliment. It was a crazy moment, but a moment nonetheless. Here he was with a near stranger that clearly had serious trust issues, and he was going to let Stiles try and remove one of his appendages. In another world, a dystopian, terrifying world, it would be a sweet gesture.

Here, it made Stiles’ stomach clench and his mouth go dry. Derek actually expected him to do an amputation. He could barely breathe when Derek dropped the saw on the counter like he couldn’t carry it anymore and slid it toward him. Reflexively, Stiles picked it up and squeezed the trigger. It was instinct, something he did with any toy gun or those plastic grabby claws. Only instead of making a funny sound or lighting up, the blade _whirred_ in place and—”Oh my god,” he moaned, putting it down again.

This couldn’t work for so many reasons, but he stuck with the one that made the most sense with a werewolf. “What if you bleed to death?”

While Stiles’d been losing his mind, Derek had grabbed a strip of elastic and was tying it around the top of his bicep, just above the black lines. With one end gripped in his teeth, he muttered, “It’ll heal if it works.”

Suddenly the nausea was coming back and things were getting a little blurry around the edges. Stiles groaned and gulped a little. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

He wanted to, well, no, he didn’t, of course he didn’t. But he wanted to help, and if he weren’t about to collapse with no poison necessary, he would.

Derek was on his last leg, and it did nothing for his attitude. “Why not?” he snapped.

“Well, because of the cutting through the flesh, the sawing of the bone, and especially the _blood_.” God, there would be so much blood.

Finally finished tying the elastic, Derek let his arm fall what little distance it could and stared at Stiles, almost like he had before getting hurt. “You faint at the sight of blood?” he asked incredulously.

“No, but I might at the sight of a chopped off arm!”

The argument actually seemed to be helping Derek perk up, because for all the breathiness, he sounded almost normal. “Alright, fine. How about this? Either you cut off my arm, or I’m gonna cut off your head,” said the man who could barely hold himself upright.

“Okay, you know, I’m so not buying your threats any—” And then Stiles was totally, completely buying the threats because Derek’s good hand clenched in the front of his shirt and nearly dragged him onto the table. “Oh my god, okay. Alright, bought, sold, totally. I’ll do it.” He repeated himself when Derek didn’t let go, but Derek wasn’t listening.

His head was tilted down, showing off thick, sweat soaked black hair, and his throat was undulating like he was trying to swallow something and it was fighting back. Instead, he leaned over his own arm and puked black _something_ onto the concrete floor.

Stiles was whining now, scared out of his mind and he wasn’t really afraid to admit it. “Holy god, what the hell is that?”

Derek didn’t look up as he spoke. “It’s my body trying to heal itself.”

“Well it’s not doing a very good job of it.”

Just managing to lift his head onto the table and look at Stiles, Derek nodded his head, “Now. You gotta do it now.”

The position Derek was in looked anything but comfortable, but it placed his arm at an angle Stiles could reach it. He didn’t want to reach it. “Look, honestly, I don’t think I can.”

“Just do it!” Derek barked.

So Stiles picked up the saw and pulled the trigger again to make sure it hadn’t randomly stopped working. He held it against Derek’s skin, an inch under the elastic. Taking a deep breath he tried to sound confident as he shouted, “Alright, here we go.”

“Stiles?” called a voice, banging in through the back door. A familiar voice with perfect, amazing timing.

Stiles froze. “Scott?”

And there he was, leaning in the door and gaping at the picture he’d found. It probably didn’t look too good from the outside. Hell, it was pretty shit from inside too.

It seemed like everything was going to be okay as Scott handed over the bullet and Derek held it up in front of his face. Then Derek blinked and collapsed, sending the precious bullet flying.

Scott dove for it, and Stiles scrambled around the table to get to Derek. He was breathing, maybe, and his heart was beating, possibly. Stiles couldn’t tell, okay? He was freaking out too badly to focus, and the best he could manage was grabbing for Derek’s face and slapping the sides of it.

He might have been rambling, but all he could actually think about was not letting Derek die. There was no response to his attempts: no twitch or fidget or cough, nothing. Still calling out to Scott, trying to get him to think of something because at the moment Stiles was considering grabbing the damn saw, he stuck a hand under Derek’s head to check that he hadn’t hurt himself even more by falling. No blood, no bump, just an unconscious, possibly dead, werewolf.

Just when he was about to start actually screaming, Scott jumped up, bullet in his hand. “I got it!” 

Awesome, but they had no idea what to do with it. As a last ditch effort, and maybe payback for making Stiles watch someone else die, Stiles pulled his fist back and punched Derek as hard as he could in the face.

It hurt, holy god did it hurt. Derek had some serious cheekbones, and his head was against the floor, so there was no air cushion at all. But it was worth it when Derek jerked back into reality and plucked the bullet from Scott’s fingers before grabbing at Stiles’ hand to help pull him up. He got ahold of Stiles’ pinky, but then Scott was behind him yanking him to his feet and Stiles took the chance to shake his hand out some more. His knuckles were already bright red.

Wasting none of his limited conscious time, Derek ripped open the bullet with his teeth and knocked a bunch of plant flakes onto the table. Pulling a lighter from his pocket, he held the flame to the flakes, which sputtered and burned like a sparkler. As soon as the light went out, Derek scooped the ash into a little pile and shoved it into his wound, pushing it inside with his fingers.

The effect was instant, if Derek’s screaming was anything to go by. He bent in half and toppled sideways into Stiles, one hand reaching out to yank on his shirt. Stiles knew there was no way he could hold Derek up, but he put both hands around Derek’s wrist and lowered him to the ground as carefully as he could with Derek spasming. It took him down too, because Derek didn’t seem to be able to let go, and this was Stiles’ sixth favorite shirt, so he wasn’t going to let it get torn.

The last shout had some werewolf roaring in it, but it marked the end of Derek’s magical detox. In the space of seconds, the marks on Derek’s arm reversed back down to their entry point, and then that disappeared as well, leaving Derek’s skin as smooth as if nothing had ever happened. Stiles watched him pant for exactly three seconds before the tightness in his face relaxed into his normal grump. He let go of Stiles like he’d been burned and they stood up together.

“That. Was. Awesome.” At least Stiles had the decency to whisper it. Could anyone blame him for reacting to the sheer coolness that was werewolf healing?

Scott was giving him a really weird look, but he turned it onto Derek after a second. “Are you okay?” It didn’t sound like concern, it just sounded exasperated, like Scott was the one who spent the last three hours watching Derek slowly deteriorate instead of doing fuck all at Allison’s place.

For all that Derek had said he knew it wasn’t Scott’s fault, he gave them both a withering glare. “Well, except for the agonizing pain.”

Trying to act like he wasn’t still recovering from the third scariest thing of his life, Stiles let his mouth do the work. “I’m guessing the ability to use sarcasm is a good sign of health.”

More glaring, but then Scott announced, “Okay, we saved your life, which means you’re gonna leave us alone, you got that? And if you don’t, I’m gonna go back to Allison’s dad, and I’m gonna tell him everything—”

“You’re gonna trust them? You think they can help you?” Derek’s face was still tense, and only his eyebrows lifted to show some surprise.

Stiles was actually on Derek’s side for this. Allison’s dad had _shot_ Scott, was a hunter of those like him. Why would he spill the beans when it could get him killed?

“Well, why not? They’re a lot freaking nicer than you are,” Scott grumbled. And seriously? Sure, Derek had a pretty crappy temper and they’d had that fight at the house, but once again; _crossbow,_ arrow in the arm, the centuries old promise to _kill_ werewolves.

Apparently all emotions that weren’t anger got magicked away along with the wolfsbane, because Derek was as stoic as ever. “I can show you exactly how nice they are.”

They didn’t let Stiles come with. Or rather, Derek just sort of glared at him when he tried to get out of the car with them once they got back to the school, where Derek had left the Camaro. It was fine, really, Stiles wasn’t put out at all about being kept from probably vital information that Scott might not see the importance of.

He definitely didn’t spend the entire time he was putting gas in the Jeep muttering about stupid, grumpy, secretive assholes that couldn’t even manage a ‘thank you’ for helping save their life.

He didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, once again, this chapter was an absolute joy to work on, even though I went slightly mad about getting things just right with timing and you know, Derek spends most of it dying.  
> Those Bad Friend Scott McCall vibes are only going to get more prominent, so I hope you're all prepared for that.  
> Also, I wanted to say that I'm really appreciating your guys' comments on this fic. It's been months worth of work, and every time one of you sends me a heart or just a keysmash of feelings, it makes me grin so wide my husband laughs at me.  
> I'll see you all next week with the next chapter!


	5. Episode 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to chapter 5! We're almost halfway there, and I'm really starting to get into it with this show.

Stiles didn’t get to find out what he’d missed until school the next day. It was a whole new level of heartbreaking to hear not only that Derek’s family hadn’t just died, they’d been _murdered_ by the Argents, and the only survivor was an uncle stuck in a catatonic state for the last six years, but that Scott was somehow managing to up his level of dickhead to near Jackson levels. “They must’ve had a reason?” How fucked up could you get?

But Scott would hear nothing of it, and Stiles gave up after only a few minutes to avoid any public wolfing out. It was just easier to let Scott talk about things that didn’t make him lose control. Like Allison, and hanging out with Allison, and if Stiles was really lucky, doing homework with Allison. They didn’t even talk about lacrosse until they were on the way to practice after school.

Logically, Stiles knew that he’d totally waxed poetic about Lydia to Scott before, and as a best friend it was his duty to listen now that it was Scott’s turn, but it still sucked. At least Stiles had other interests, and wasn’t completely obsessed with how Lydia’s hair smelled. Though, he totally would have been if she’d ever let him get close enough to find out.

Not wanting to make waves with Scott meant that Stiles didn’t go talk to Derek again—though he really wanted to discuss how best to find the Alpha— and basically pretending everything was normal for Scott’s sake. He still wasn’t ready to accept that things couldn’t _be_ normal anymore, let alone enjoy it. Scott rambled on and on about being human, but he didn’t seem to have any issues with using his werewolf powers when it benefited him. Mostly during practice, but quite a few times right in Allison’s face to impress her. He was the least subtle person Stiles had ever seen.

Stiles had hoped Scott was keeping his distance from Derek too, since he hadn’t asked Stiles to go along to any meetings. The two of them were like oil and water and Stiles wanted to be there to mediate if they actually gave a non-violent relationship a try. Of course, that only lasted about a week and a half. Then, Stiles found Scott totally unavailable when he tried to let him know about the murder he and his dad had gone to check out.

Well, his dad had gone to check it out. Stiles just happened to be in the car because nowadays, most of their family meals took place in police cruisers.

Jackson was there shouting his head off, reminding Stiles of Derek’s refusal to show fear by threatening to cut _Stiles’_ head off, and Lydia was sitting in the ambulance with a shock blanket pooled at her waist. She didn’t look good at all, but Stiles’ dad wouldn’t let him near her so he didn’t know how involved she’d been. He didn’t know anything, except that it was incredibly unlikely that there was both a rogue Alpha _and_ a totally normal murderer in town at the same time. Which meant the Alpha had now killed both a middle aged bus driver, and a lowly movie store worker.

Scott called a few hours later to tell him how his side of the night had gone, and to rant about what a dick Derek was. Still cranky about being left out, Stiles joined him and they had a whole ragging on Derek party. Well, maybe Stiles was ragging on Scott a little too.

“He broke my hand, Stiles. And I know it healed, but that’s not the point!”

“Yeah, I know. Dude has some serious anger management issues. Kinda like you right now.”

There was a growl on the other line. “I don’t have anger issues.”

“I can honestly say you’ve never proven my point faster. And remember that time I called you an idiot, and ten seconds later you forgot how to spell ‘apple?’” There was more growling, so he smoothed out a little. “Hey, I’m kidding. Deep breaths, Scotty.”

Thankfully, Scott took his advice and huffed a few times until Stiles felt safe enough to say, “At least he’s offering to help you control this stuff? We’ll tag team for you. I’ll help you with human homework and he’ll help you with werewolf homework.”

The promise of doing homework together seemed to mollify Scott, who was failing three classes, but the next day he didn’t even show up to school. It was beyond counterproductive, and Stiles was a little pissed. More than a little really, but Scott wasn’t answering his texts, so he couldn’t vent his frustration except by highlighting everything in his textbook he didn’t get. It was a good thing he’d splurged on the fancy fading highlighters or he’d be facing serious school property damage fees.

Jackson showed up to class looking like he’d seen a ghost, but Stiles’ prodding at Danny, the only person besides Lydia who could see past Jackson’s douchebag exterior, didn’t get him any answers. Not even to his personal identity crisis.

With Scott as his only close friend, Stiles hadn’t really spent much time questioning his appeal to other people besides Lydia. Scott had never given him a reason to think he was doing anything wrong in the clothes department, and surely if he could make friends with Scott it wasn’t like his personality was _that_ bad. Harley and Tanner were proof of him being sociable as well, at least before Harley switched schools a week ago with no warning and a weirdly solemn goodbye on her last day. But having Allison’s new clique around at lunch, with the now-named Rachel on his left and Danny on his right, Stiles was starting to wonder if it was just his actual face that was the problem.

Surely he was attractive to at least one demographic. Obviously not straight guys, or even straight girls. Gay guys had been next on his list, and Danny wouldn’t even give him a hint. It was totally cruel.

But Stiles admittedly didn’t have time to worry about his own face, when others kept popping up instead. Like Derek’s.

Stiles was texting Scott for the hundredth time as he headed to his next class when he ran into a brick wall. Used to walking into corners and doors, Stiles reached up to brace and reorient himself, only to find his hand grasping at smooth leather. Jerking his head up, Stiles tripped backward again.

Derek reached out to grab him just like before, holding Stiles in place without hurting him while Stiles tried to breath normally. “Dude! You have got to stop doing that.” He outright knew Derek’s lurker tendencies weren’t a result of being a werewolf, because Scott was still as loud and clumsy as ever, which meant Derek was just naturally like that.

Smirking, Derek shrugged and let Stiles go. He still hadn’t corrected his balance, and the lost of support left Stiles to collapse on the hall floor. Students shifted to walk around them as he scrambled upright, most of them actually staring at Derek instead of Stiles. It only made him feel marginally better.

While Stiles could probably spend the rest of his school career wondering if he actually had a face worth looking at, whether his moles were in the pro or con column, and if his hair could actually manage to look decent with some kind of styling or growing it out, Derek would never have that problem. Without impending _death_ tainting his features, his whole being looked like it was sculpted by a god. The sharp jawline, coupled with faint stubble and eyes that only the most unobservant of people could simply call green. Bushy eyebrows that should have made him look like a lumberjack instead made him mysterious and somehow soft. Fluffy black hair and the general marble perfect physique. Derek was _everyone’s_ type. The asshole.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it. What’re you doing here? And where’s your guest pass?” Stiles brushed himself off and straightened his overshirt, not seeing Derek’s raised eyebrow until he was done. “Oh, right. You’re too good for the likes of the front office. I bet you had to sneak in through the lacrosse field.”

The brow went down, and the pair furrowed.

Stiles sighed. “Yeah, yeah, throat, meet teeth. Whatever.”

Now both jumped high on Derek’s forehead.

“What? You’re the one who said werewolves are supposed to be able to control themselves around human packmates. I may not be pack, but I’m your best link with Scott, who is like wolfnip right now to you people, so I doubt you’ll actually hurt me.”

At the mention of Scott, Derek’s eyes flicked over Stiles’ shoulder, like he was hiding him. “Don’t bother,” Stiles said. “He didn’t show up to class. Though considering you’re here, he must’ve stopped by. He’s gone now though, probably off with Allison.”

Derek scowled, a look even more sour than his usual, and Stiles put his hands up. “Don’t look at me. I couldn’t even stop him from playing lacrosse, what makes you think I can get him away from the girl of his dreams?”

Sighing and crossing his arms, Derek frowned at Stiles. He was waiting for something. When Stiles didn’t immediately pull the thought from his head, Derek rolled his eyes and took an obvious sniff. He clearly wasn’t in the mood to give a better hint than that, so Stiles worked out the most likely scenario.

If he was at the school, he wanted information, probably on the murder the night before. Scott had said he and Derek were at the crime scene, which meant that Derek knew Jackson and Lydia were involved.

Jackson had been sure to give Stiles a good shove for trying to talk to Danny in chemistry, and his scent was probably still on him. It was weird to have to consider things like scents and pheromones now. “I don’t know much more than you do. Jackson’s not talking and Lydia isn’t here today. I was gonna skip my last period to go check on her before Jackson gets to her.”

Derek’s nod was brisk, and he had already turned to disappear when Stiles grabbed at his wrist. “Hold on!” To his surprise, Derek actually stopped and turned back to him, frowning down at the hand Stiles had on him until he let go. Clearly touching was like a serious no-no with him.

“Do you have a phone?”

Narrowing his eyes, Derek nodded.

“Good. Give it to me.” Stiles held his hand out expectantly and stood in silence until Derek passed it over. It was a crappy little flip phone, but at least Stiles didn’t need to have him unlock it or anything. Tapping the buttons, Stiles explained himself. “I’m giving you my number and texting myself. When I find out what Lydia does or doesn’t know, I’ll text you the info. You do the same, and hopefully Scott will actually come back to reality long enough to check in. I swear to God, one of these days we’re going to have an actual conversation. All three of us. One where you don’t fucking break him, and he doesn’t say stupid insensitive things about your family, which I’m sorry for by the way.”

After saving his number in Derek’s weirdly empty list of contacts, Stiles texted himself a short introduction.

**Unknown: This is the phone of Derek, werewolf grump extraordinaire. Don’t lose his number because he might rip ur hand off if u try 2 get it from him again. W/his teeth, apparently.**

Derek blinked down at his phone once Stiles handed it back and then walked off without a word. Come to think of it, he hadn’t actually said anything the whole time. Stiles had just had a whole conversation with Derek’s eyebrows.

It wasn’t until his next class was over that Stiles actually got through to Scott, only to find him exactly where he’d expected. By Allison’s side.

“Have you been getting any of my texts?” Stiles was starting to feel like Derek with how much scowling he was doing.

“Yeah, like all nine million of them.”

Which meant Scott was just straight up ignoring him. Great. At least Derek had the decency to let Stiles know that Jackson was a dead end because he hadn’t seen anything. “Do you have any idea what’s going on? Lydia’s MIA, Jackson looks like he had a time bomb inserted into his face, and there’s another dead body on the Alpha’s list. You have to help us do something about it!”

“Like what?”

“Something, Scott! At this point, anything!” Stiles burst out, earning a couple stares from freshmen across the hall.

There was a crackling sound as the background noises of wherever Scott was leaked into the mic in his silence, then a hurried, “I’ll deal with it later.”

Before Stiles could reply that _no_ , Scott needed to deal with it _now_ , the line clicked and the call ended. Cursing, wildly, Stiles headed for his locker and tapped out a text to the one person who might actually answer.

_Count Scott out 2day. He’s fucking twitterpated or something._

**D.H: ?**

**__** _Unless u wanna physically drag him away from Allison. Which I might pay 2 c at this point._

**D.H: What about Lydia?**

_On it._

Screw it, if missing his last class wasn’t going to have an effect, Stiles might as well miss the rest of them and call it a day. He’d get hell from his dad, especially with parent teacher conferences that night, but he still had straight A’s, so hopefully he could just play it off as extreme worry over his lifetime crush. Which it kind of was.

Stiles was kind of amazed that Lydia’s mother let him in the house, but she just looked happy to have someone else watch over her drugged up daughter for a while. Being in Lydia’s room alone with her fulfilled at least a hundred of Stiles’ fantasies, but her being completely out of it and calling him the wrong name kind of dampened his joy. After finding the video of the Alpha on her phone, he ended up tucking her under the blankets and putting her tranquilizers on the opposite end of the room in the hopes that she wouldn’t accidentally take too many if she had to actually get up to grab them.

It was just the cherry on top of a seriously shit day when even Derek didn’t respond to Stiles’ texts about the video. When no answer came from either of his supernatural cohorts, Stiles just deleted it. It wouldn’t tell them anything they didn’t already know, and he couldn’t stand to have it on Lydia’s phone. She’d clearly blocked it out, and Stiles wasn’t about to let her be traumatized by it _again_. Now he just needed to return her phone without her knowing, or she’d probably have him arrested or something.

Stuck at home, with nothing useful to do, Stiles pulled out the notes he’d made based off whatever he could eke out of his dad and went through them. He started with the Hale fire, because that was the last time anything supernatural had happened in town and honestly, all they had to go on since the Alpha had killed Laura Hale specifically. It could have lured in any other Alpha, so why Laura?

What did a bus driver and a video store clerk have to do with each other? Why would the Alpha bite Scott? If it wanted a Beta, couldn’t it have manipulated Derek? Was it waiting for something?

He was so caught up in his research, newspaper scans spread across the bed and floor, he almost didn’t notice his dad had gotten home until the creak of the stairs came slower than usual. Stiles froze, watching the open doorway as his dad limped into view. Noah’s hands were already up, holding back the tide of Stiles’ worries.

“I’m fine. Just a little bruising. We finally caught that mountain lion that’s been attacking people.” He shifted a little and winced.

Stiles was up off the bed and wading through the files to reach him. He needed to touch him, know he was okay. It never got any easier, being the son of the sheriff, knowing his dad was going to come home with injuries sometimes. As he ushered his dad into the bedroom and helped him unload everything from his belt, he interrogated as only a sheriff’s son could.

“When did this happen?”

Noah sighed and gave in, even handing over his gun so Stiles could take it apart the way he’d been taught and put it on the dresser in its designated space. “At the parent teacher conference. The mountain lion finally wandered into public.”

“So, how did you get hurt? Did it attack you?” 

“No, someone was trying to drive away and they backed into me. Stiles, it was barely a bump—”

“Who was it? Did you get the plate number?”

Stiles’ dad shook his head and sat down on the bed, still in his uniform. “I’m not telling you, you’ll just harass them. It was an accident, son. They stopped the car and got out to check on me right away. How are you not more interested in the mountain lion?”

He’d reorganized his dad’s keys, belt, gun, and phone three times already, trying to steady his shaking hands. At Noah’s obliviousness, Stiles snapped, “Because you’re not just some minimum wage rent-a-cop, you’re the county sheriff! I can’t believe someone hit you with their car. God, everything you do for this place and they tried to drive over you just to escape some stupid cat.”

“Mischief, come here, son.”

Stiles’s shoulders drooped at his nickname and he obeyed, because it was that or he interrogated every eye witness until he found the one who’d done it. Stepping around the edge of the bed, he took his dad’s hand and closed his eyes, imagining he had werewolf hearing and could count the steady beats of Noah’s heart.

When Noah spoke, his soothing rumble made Stiles feel like a little kid again, being comforted after a nightmare. “It was an accident. They didn’t mean to, they were just scared. What’s the rule?”

“The more scared you are, the more self-aware you need to be,” Stiles intoned. His ADHD already made him a little erratic, but Stiles had always had bad reactions to fear. After his mom died, the nightmares were so bad he used to run away from sleepovers at Scott’s and cross town in his pajamas to sit in the station until his dad got off his shift.

His dad nodded. “Exactly. Now, I’m not really hurt. No one was, though I think Scott saved Allison in the nick of time.”

A stream of cold dripped down Stiles’ spine. He opened his eyes. “Scott was there?”

“Yes, he showed up right after the conferences got out. Melissa didn’t look happy about it. Didn’t you say he was failing a class?”

Stiles let his dad keep talking, and even promised to try and focus more on his studies after hearing Finstock’s complaint. It felt hypocritical though, as he couldn’t even focus on the conversation they were having, let alone school.

Once he was back in his room, after getting his dad ice packs and a decent dinner, Stiles opened up his text conversation again.

 _Changed my mind_. _U can deal with Scott however u want._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As this episode is so very Scott centered, I had to come up with things to pass Stiles' time, so I figured I'd have some fun and explain a couple things that come up later, along with getting in some Stiles & Sheriff time. Those two didn't get Near enough father-son moments in the show. <3
> 
> Much love to my sweet Beta [Madeline](https://beacon911.tumblr.com)


	6. Episode 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is even shorter than the last. The episodes that are more about transition are hard to get enough content for. But hey, speaking from halfway through season 2, I promise it gets better. No transitional episodes Then, I have too much other stuff going on.

Stiles oscillated back and forth between not quite being able to believe that Scott would do it, and not being surprised at all. He’d clearly lost his mind: spending all that time with Allison must’ve melted it or something. There wasn’t another explanation.

He’d been there, he’d had every ability to stop Stiles’ dad from getting hurt, and instead he’d gone after Allison. Sure, fine, whatever, Allison was Scott’s girlfriend or soulmate or something. Whoop-de-doo.

But the sheriff was Stiles’ _dad_. He was all Stiles had left, and he’d been raising Scott just as much as Melissa had raised Stiles since they first met in the fifth grade. He’d picked them up from lacrosse before Stiles got his license. He’d taken them out for birthday dinners and bought Scott the dartboard that hung in his room. They were family, and Scott’d just left him.

Not to mention that he couldn’t be bothered to pick up the damn phone all day, but going to conferences took precedence for some reason? People were dead, more lives were on the line, and Scott was worried about his stupid grades that would be fine if he’d stop skipping out on classes and study sessions to hang out with the daughter of a man who wanted Scott dead.

It was too much, and Stiles couldn’t do it anymore. Thankfully Derek didn’t ask too many questions. He didn’t ask any questions at all actually, and since Stiles was giving Scott a taste of his own medicine by not answering his calls or texts, Stiles spend the weekend with radio silence. It was nice, and boring as all hell. He passed the time doing more research on werewolf pack structure and wolfsbane and the fire, before completely burning out and playing videogames. If nothing else, Stiles could start a website compendium of everything he’d learned, or write it out as fiction and get rich. It was a long weekend.

It turned out ignoring Scott was much easier when he couldn’t hear the soft sincerity in his voice that Stiles had almost thought was gone from his best friend. Sitting in class, he held out as long as he could while Scott talked to him.

“Still not talking to me? Can you at least tell me if your dad’s okay? I mean, it’s just a bruise right? Soft tissue damage, nothing that big?”

Stiles had to stick his tongue in his cheek and bite down to keep himself from responding.

“You know I feel really bad about it, right?” Scott asked. Stiles didn’t need werewolf powers to know he was telling the truth, but apologies weren’t enough. Not when it came to his dad. Finally, Scott sighed, and Stiles could hear him rub at his arms as he said, “Okay, what if I told you that I’m trying to figure this whole thing out, and that I went to Derek for help?”

That…that was a really good way to get Stiles to talk. Scott was way more sly than he gave himself credit for. Huffing, Stiles played with his pencil. “If I was talking to you, I’d tell you you’re an idiot for not going sooner. Derek is the only person we know who can teach you control. But, obviously I’m not talking to you.”

And damn him, Scott didn’t even push. He knew exactly what he was doing to Stiles, and it only took a few seconds until the curiosity was too strong for Stiles to help asking, “What’d he say?”

As they walked out of class, Stiles tried to get everything organized in his head. “So he wants you to tap into your animal side and get angry? Our whole problem lately has been you getting angry, how is that going to help?”

“I don’t know. That’s what he means when he says he doesn’t know if he _can_ teach me. But I have to be able to control it.”

Stiles took a breath. “Well, you can’t really blame him. The anger works for him, but I really don’t think it’s going to help you. It just makes you worse. When are you seeing him again?”

Scott shrugged. “He said not to talk about it, to just act normal and get through the day—”

“When?” Stiles slapped him on the shoulder, and was grateful when for once Scott didn’t instinctively snarl.

“He’s picking me up at the animal clinic after work.”

It would be a stretch, but it was worth a shot at least. “Okay, well that gives me until the end of the school day, then.”

Scott frowned at him, not understanding. “To do what?”

“To teach you myself. If we can find something else that works, Derek won’t have to fight you like he normally does.”

He needed time to think, but Scott grabbed his arm as he tried to walk away. This time it was gentle. “Hey, you know he got super pissed at me, right?”

Stiles nodded slowly. “Yeah, you said he smashed your phone because Allison called you.”

But Scott shook his head and shifted his backpack higher up onto his shoulder before scuffing his toe on the floor. “That wasn’t the only reason. He told me to stop pissing off my pack, and that if I wasn’t going to answer the phone I shouldn’t have it. I think he was talking about you.”

Stiles had known pack was a big deal to Derek, but he hadn’t realized he would care so much about Scott’s pack. Then again, he had looked pretty pissed about the bruises, and not talking to Stiles had consequences for everybody.

Trying to play it off, Stiles shrugged. “He probably just smelled how annoyed I was and it offended his nose or something.”

“What do you mean ‘smelled how annoyed you were?’” The clueless look on Scott’s face made Stiles groan.

“God, you are such a blank canvas. I thought you worked in a vet’s office! Don’t you know that dogs can smell feelings?” Stiles threw an arm over Scott’s shoulders and explained the intricacies of chemosignals on the way to the cafeteria, where he pulled his phone out and called Derek.

It wasn’t like he needed permission, but it would be better if Derek knew what was going on. Maybe then he’d actually be willing to share his own information.

A slight huff was Derek’s only greeting, but Stiles’ rolled with it. “Hey dude, I hear you’re holding out on us.” Scott had stopped walking, a flabbergasted look on his face, and Stiles waved him toward the lunch line with one hand. It took a few flaps, but finally Scott walked away and Stiles knew the chaos of the cafeteria would be enough to drown out his conversation. Derek still hadn’t said anything, so Stiles continued. “Come on, Derek. Tell me what the spiral means. There’s no way the Alpha decided to do some finger painting in the fog of Scott’s car for no reason. ”

There was a small snarl, then Derek said, “You don’t want to know.”

Stiles actually laughed and snatched up a tiny yellow apple from a fruit basket. “Of course I want to know. I pretty much want to know everything. The list of things I _don’t_ want to know is like five items long, and I promise supernatural spirals are firmly in the ‘want to know’ category.”

“No, Stiles. If that’s the only reason you called then I’m hanging up,” Derek warned, which was in and of itself an improvement.

Stiles believed him, and he was quick to jump in, “No, hold on. Listen, I’m gonna try some stuff with Scott today, okay? I wanna see if I can help with the control thing without encouraging him going aggro on me.”

“What makes you think your idea will work and mine won’t?” If Stiles didn’t know better, he’d think Derek sounded petulant. Surely the mighty grump was above all that though.

Turning the apple over in his hand, Stiles sighed. “No disrespect to your guerilla warfare teaching tactics, but Scott was raised human. He needs a more human approach. I’ve personally felt what it’s like when his animal side comes out to play and it fucking sucks. I just wanna try some stuff, and if it doesn’t work, you can totally make him go wolfman until he figures out what the hell he’s doing. Just let me get out of tracking distance before then.”

There was a scowl. Stiles could _feel_ the scowl. “I’m still picking him up from work.”

“Hell, dude, I will hand deliver him to you.”

“Fine.” And the call ended. It was almost a goodbye.

There was something therapeutic about making shots at Scott on the lacrosse field to have him practice keeping his heart rate in check. It was better than decking him, because Stiles was far enough away Scott wouldn’t accidentally scratch him or something. And it was nicer than talking it out, because as much as Stiles liked to talk, it wasn’t a great way for him to channel his emotions. Everything blended together too easily. Actions were easier.

Stiles got the last of his jollies out by testing Scott’s connection to Allison. Ending up in detention sucked, but at least they had a way for Scott to control himself. Maybe anger worked for Derek, and Stiles couldn’t deny he had a lot to be angry about, but Scott was about as fairy tale prince as he could get, finding balance in himself through love. It was slightly nauseating, but if it kept Stiles alive, who cared?

He dropped Scott off at the clinic with the good news, only to get a furious call less than ten minutes later. Seriously, those two needed one of those two headed sweaters that you put unruly kids into, but laced with wolfsbane so they couldn’t break out.

Once Scott explained that Derek had decided Deaton, Scott’s boss, was either the Alpha himself or involved, and had subsequently tied him up and knocked him unconscious, Stiles scolded Derek through the phone. He assumed he’d be heard as long as Derek was somewhere in the building, so he didn’t even bother yelling. “Dammit Derek. I thought we talked about how we were going to talk about this. You gotta stop breaking people and use your words!”

There was a growl over the line, much deeper than Scott’s, but Stiles just blew a raspberry. “Grr to you too, dude.”

The look on Scott’s face when Stiles picked him back up in the clinic parking lot was so scandalized, Stiles checked to make sure none of his clothing was on backwards.

“What?”

Scott blinked over at him as they drove to grab Stiles’ tools. “I thought he was going to smash the work phone. Why the hell did you antagonize him?”

Stiles shrugged. “Cus’ it’s fun? Also, somebody needs to talk some sense into him. At least he knows I mean what I’m saying and I won’t go apeshit on him during a fight. He’s seriously lacking in human interaction. The list goes on, but everything points to it being entirely healthy for me to give Derek crap.”

The plan sucked, no doubt about it. Stiles didn’t even realize Scott hadn’t told Derek until they got to the school, and then he was too preoccupied by Deaton’s unconscious form in the backseat to jab him into admission. Instead he just side-eyed Derek.

“He looks comfortable.”

This time Derek didn’t take the bait, just glared. It was no fun to be an asshole when Derek didn’t play the game, so Stiles dropped it a little and rubbed at his eyes. “I get it, dude. I really do. But there are better ways.”

So maybe it was a bit hypocritical to say that and then walk into the stupidest plan known to man—and werewolf—kind. It took a couple tries to get Scott’s howl right, but when they put it through the intercom the whole building seemed to rumble and something old stirred even in Stiles’ bones. It wasn’t much of a howl, more like a roar, but it felt like it did the job. If Scott really did have some kind of connection to the Alpha, then this would call the Alpha out, whoever it was.

Of course, going outside afterward meant Derek got to have some payback. “That was a better way? I’m gonna kill both of you, now. What the hell were you trying to do, attract the entire state to the school?”

Scott smiled sheepishly, “Sorry, I didn’t know it would be that loud.”

“Yeah, it was loud, and it was _awesome_.” Stiles let the last word ring, because holy crap having a werewolf for a best friend was amazing sometimes.

Apparently still annoyed, Derek hushed them. “Shut up.”

Stiles grinned. “Come on, don’t be such a sourwolf.”

The good mood didn’t last long, as Scott suddenly leaned toward the car. “What’d you do to him?”

Derek turned around and looked in the window, “What? I didn’t do anything!”

The door on the other side was open, and Deaton was nowhere to be found. There was no time to react or even breathe before Derek was suddenly lifted off his feet. His body started to shudder and dark red blood spewed out of his mouth.

Holding him up was a living shadow, as dark as night, with a long muzzle and glowing red eyes. It was covered in fur and didn’t look anywhere close to what Scott and Derek shifted into. It was hard to see through the terror, and Stiles didn’t stick around to get a better angle because he was too busy dragging Scott backwards to the front doors and blinking away the image of Derek impaled on claws.

Only once they’d gotten the door shut behind them did Stiles realize that he’d essentially trapped them in the school. They’d finally found the Alpha, and handed themselves over on a silver platter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaannnd, we're ending on a cliffhanger, I know, I'm the worst. Up next is Night School, and let me tell you, that episode was HELL to write. I must've bitched for hours at my sweet Beta [Madeline](https://beacon911.tumblr.com).
> 
> Thanks for all your support, I'm having such a blast with this. <3


	7. Episode 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll admit you guys, this chapter was _hell_ to write, since I'm still following so closely to canon. It just absolutely dragged me through the dirt and spit me out at the end with a headache and a need to never be that close to canon again.  
> But hey, I worked hard on it, so I really hope you guys like it.

Terrified didn’t even begin to describe how Stiles was feeling as he and Scott pulled the school doors shut. Looking around, there was no bolt to pull down or switch to turn that would help him lock it, but that didn’t stop Scott from shouting at him to do it.

“Do I look like I have a key?” Stiles argued.

“Grab something!”

“What?”

“Anything!”

But there was nothing on the floor, no conveniently misplaced chains hanging around and no broomsticks they could shove under the bars to keep the door latched. Thinking quickly, Stiles peeked through the tiny window. The bolt cutters he’d brought were still on the sidewalk where he’d dropped them, and it didn’t look like the Alpha was outside anymore.

Not thinking too much about it, Stiles dashed out the front door and snatched up the bolt cutters. There was no roar or glowing eyes. It was actually pretty still outside. Stiles looked over in the direction that he thought Derek had been thrown, and he could see an abnormally dark spot on the grass behind the bushes. It had to be Derek’s jacket, which meant he didn’t get up. He was probably dead.

A banging sound behind him made Stiles turn around to where Scott was waving frantically at him from behind the glass. Stiles followed his gaze, and saw the Alpha prowling out from behind his Jeep. It looked almost relaxed, like Stiles was just going to stand there and let himself be ripped to shreds.

When it caught his gaze, Stiles lost any and all composure and ran back to the door, not checking to see if he was being followed. Hell, if he was, who knew how long even the massive steel doors could hold it back?

The bolt cutters didn’t help near as much as he’d hoped they would, but nothing slammed into the building, and when Stiles and Scott checked the windows, the area was empty again. It was playing with them.

They backed up, watching the door for any sign that they should run, and Scott whispered, “That won’t hold, will it?” It was quiet enough in the school that even the lowest tone seemed loud.

“Probably not.”

A proper howl cut through the air long and low, and they ran on instinct, skidding into a classroom. Stiles hadn’t even pulled the door shut when Scott began shoving at the teacher’s desk. It was old metal, and it scraped harshly against the floor, so Stiles stopped him after less than a second. “The door’s not gonna keep it out.”

Scott nodded in defeat. “I know.”

It was as good a time as any for Stiles to get out his last words, and screw anybody who said dying angry was bad. “I hate your boss!”

“What?”

“Deaton? The Alpha? Your boss.” Derek was totally right, and Stiles should have let him beat the man to a pulp.

It was shocking how Scott could come up with a hundred reasons not to trust Derek, whose worst quality was a lack of communication skills, but he insisted on defending his boss after they were given near perfect proof of his guilt. He shook his head wildly, “No!”

“Yes. Murdering, nutso werewolf.”

“That can’t be!”

Stiles would have groaned if he could catch his breath. “Oh, come on. He disappears and that thing shows up ten seconds later to toss Derek twenty feet through the air? That’s not convenient timing?”

“It’s not him.”

“He killed Derek.” After Stiles had nearly cut Derek’s arm off to keep him alive, the vet who owned the damn place he’d saved him in was the one to kill him. It was sick and twisted, like everything else in Beacon Hills, apparently.

But Scott kept arguing. “No, Derek’s not dead, he—he can’t be dead.”

“Blood spurted out of his mouth, okay? That doesn’t exactly qualify as a minor injury! He’s dead, and we’re next.”

Finally it seemed to kick in, and Scott stopped fighting. Their best chance was to get to the Jeep and run for their lives until they could send someone back for Derek’s body, but the plan was cut short when the battery to Stiles’ car came crashing through the classroom window.

It was like it was listening to them. The Alpha knew exactly where they were, but it wasn’t coming to get them, it was just cutting off their chances to leave. More games, like a Tom and Jerry chase, only with way more permanent consequences if they got eaten.

They went to the locker room, the place in the building with the fewest, smallest windows. With the door closed and their flashlight not yet crapping out on them like in most horror movies, Stiles managed to feel almost a fraction of safety.

Scott was the one who thought of using Derek’s car, and Stiles could have kissed him. For some reason it’d only trashed the Jeep, leaving the Camaro alone. It made an even better getaway car too because Stiles was positive it would start the first time, unlike the Jeep.

“That could work. We go outside, we get the keys off his body,” Stiles nearly choked at the thought, “and then we take his car.”

Scott frowned. “And him.”

Now Stiles really did kiss him, planting a big wet one on his forehead. “That’s my boy, Scotty. I knew your heart was still in there.”

If the Alpha was in the school by now, they could sneak out the back and run around it, hopefully getting to Derek’s body with enough time to move him. 

Scott froze at something Stiles couldn’t pick up before Stiles could open the door to the hall, and they hid in lockers.

The night janitor was loud, both while he was shouting at them to get the hell out of the school and threatening to call the cops as he shoved them into the hall, and while he screamed when the Alpha dragged him backwards into the room and closed the door. Somehow it’d gotten around them, and if they’d stayed there any longer, it would have been their guts splattered on the cloudy door window.

They ran to the field doors, but even Scott couldn’t get them open more than half a foot. It’d blocked them in, cutting off another route of escape.

Stiles had been keeping his cool relatively well, but losing his second plan was bringing him to the edge and he rammed into the door again and again, only managing to bounce off it and make his arm go numb for a second when he hit it wrong on the metal. He knew he was making noise, but he couldn’t stop. He needed to get out.

Scott dragged him away with a snarl and a shout, and they got halfway down one of the main halls before they saw it again. It was on the roof, across the small courtyard where upperclassmen could eat lunch. When it saw them it dashed forward and jumped, smashing through the wall of windows and skidding into the opposite wall. It should have caught up when they ran, but it didn’t, and Stiles scurried down the stairs and into the unused basement of the school.

It was sheer dumb luck that throwing his keys into the tiny room worked, but Stiles took full advantage of it, slamming the heavy door closed and having Scott help him shift a spare desk into place so even if it could be shoved backwards, it would catch against the far wall and keep the door shut anyway. The Alpha was trapped, and Stiles was more than a little high on adrenaline, so he climbed up onto the desk and looked through the grate. The shadows were dark enough in the room that he didn’t see anything until it slammed up against the door.

The shock sent him rolling to the ground, and it pissed him off. “I’m not afraid of you! You’re in there and we’re out here, and you’re not going any—”

With a crash, the ceiling in the room collapsed, and suddenly a massive weight began to shift above them, making the ceiling tiles dip and break. Again, they ran. Stiles had never been so grateful to be in lacrosse.

They’d only just managed to lose it and get back upstairs when Scott grabbed Stiles arm and shushed him. “Wait, do you hear that?” 

It was a pointless question, as Stiles was human, but he answered anyway. “Hear what?”

“It sounds like a phone ringing.”

“What?” Who the hell was still here? Another janitor?

Scott went tense and started scrambling at Stiles’ jacket. “I know that ring. It’s Allison’s phone.”

It took two tries to get her on the line, and they made a mad dash for the lobby. If Scott could hear the phone, there was no question that the Alpha could and they needed to get her the hell out.

There was more good news waiting for them, as Allison showed Scott the fake text that brought her to the school, and Lydia and Jackson showed up. The two of them looked mildly angry and tired, and Lydia didn’t bother with greetings as she shoved her phone into her purse. “Can we go now?”

There was a thud overhead, and then the tiles began to buckle as a weight far too big to be human settled into place. When Scott shouted, “Run!” no one hesitated. Again, it should have caught up. There was no way they were outrunning it, but somehow it never got to them and they managed to slam into the cafeteria and get the doors closed.

About five seconds in, Stiles realized their mistake, but no one would listen to him as he called out, “Scott, wait, not here.”

Scott had already bolted the top and bottom of the doors shut, and he enlisted Jackson to help shift a freezer in front of it while Stiles kept trying. “Guys, will you just wait a second?”

Allison and Lydia began stacking chairs and piling them on top, and Stiles was about to lose his damn mind. “Hello!” He used his dad’s voice, the one that got whole crowds to shut up, and it worked. All four of the teenagers jerked to attention and stared at him. “Okay. Nice work. Really beautiful job, everyone. Now, what should we do about the twenty foot wall of windows?” He gestured grandly to the windows letting in enough moonlight to see clearly even with the lights off.

No one seemed to have a good answer to that, and Allison looked like she was about to start bawling, her long dark curls sticking to the tears on her pale cheeks and the sweat on her forehead. “Can somebody please explain to me what’s going on, because I’m freaking out here, and I’d really like to know why.” She was hanging on Scott’s jacket, staring at him like he had all the answers.

Lydia and Jackson turned to look at him too, and Stiles followed their lead. How could they possibly explain this? It was way beyond a joke, and there was a very real possibility that all of them were going to die if they couldn’t find a way out. Any and all excuses and bluffs flew out of Stiles’ head, leaving him to blink dumbly at Scott.

Rather than speak, Scott fled to one of the tables and covered his face, pulling at his hair so hard, Stiles absently wondered if werewolves could go bald. That left Stiles to come up with something, somehow.

He started with the most important part. “Somebody killed the janitor.”

“What?” Lydia squeaked.

“Yeah, the janitor’s dead.” They needed to know what kind of danger they were in. If Jackson thought for one second that just shouting at the Alpha would make it stop, they were all screwed.

Allison shook her head and bounced her eyes from Jackson and Lydia to Scott. “What’s he talking about? Is this a _joke_?”

Scott still didn’t say anything, so Jackson had his turn. “Who killed him?”

“I…I don’t—” Stiles stuttered.

“No, no, no, no. This was supposed to be over! The mountain lion killed—” Lydia trembled and stared into the middle distance, like she couldn’t handle looking anybody in the eye in case they proved her wrong.

The one person who had no problem doing that, was Jackson. “Don’t you get it? There wasn’t a mountain lion.”

It would have been a surprise to see that Jackson was taking off his dumb jock mask for once, if Stiles wasn’t currently trapped with him in a life or death situation that was leaning heavily towards the death part. Allison seemed to feel the same way because she tried to get back to the original question. “Who was it? What does he want?” Her voice fell to a desperate whisper. “What’s happening?”

The silence on Scott’s part was too much for any of them to deal with, but Allison was the one who barked, “Scott!” with a fierceness that didn’t quite match the rest of her freak out.

Forced back to reality, Scott stammered. “I—I don’t know. I—I just…if we go out there he’s gonna kill us.”

“ _Us?_ He’s gonna kill us?” There was a tiny bit of Lydia’s usual spark in her question, like she couldn’t believe Scott dared to drag her into his mess.

“Who?” Allison demanded. “ _Who_ is it?”

She looked right at Stiles, and he tried desperately to get his brain to focus. The problem was they just didn’t know. But, wasn’t that okay? If they came to the school to be dumbasses and just got caught up, there was no real reason for them to know who it was right? He started, “We don’t know, we were just here to—”

Scott cut in. “It’s Derek. Derek Hale.”

Stiles, along with everyone else, stared at Scott. He was seriously throwing Derek under the bus again. The dude had just _died_ , and if they managed to survive this the police would find his body and Scott wouldn’t be able to get out of it again. How could he do it?

For almost a month Derek had been helping them, training Scott, searching for the Alpha to keep the rest of the town safe. And that was after they’d gotten him arrested the _first_ time.

Everyone was rambling, talking over each other as Scott expanded the lie. Derek killed the janitor, Derek killed the bus driver and the video store clerk, Derek killed his sister. Piling on the accusations until Derek sounded like a cold blooded serial killer with a penchant for blaming animals. This wasn’t the kind of thing that could be dispelled by finding a couple wolf hairs on the body. This was months and months of paperwork if they ever wanted to absolve Derek in death.

Finally Scott ended his tirade. “He’s in here with us, and if we don’t get out now, he’s going to kill us too.”

Jackson was the first to recover. “Call the cops.”

“No.” Stiles didn’t even have to think about it.

“What? What do you mean, ‘No?’” Jackson scoffed.

Stiles turned to look at him. “I mean no. What, do you want to hear it in Spanish? _No_. Look, if Derek killed three people already, we don’t know what he would be armed with.” Going along with Scott’s lie was bad enough, but Stiles was _not_ going to add Derek’s sister to his kill count.

The frustrated glares he got were worth keeping his dad safe, even when Jackson shouted, “Your dad is armed with an entire sheriff’s department! Call him!”

Stepping forward, Lydia pulled out her phone. “I’m calling.”

Stiles went to reach for her phone, but Jackson crowded in front of him and pushed him back until Scott stepped between them.

“Yes, we’re at Beacon Hills High School. We’re trapped and we need you to—But—” Suddenly Lydia lowered the phone. “She hung up on me.”

“The police hung up on you?” Allison clarified.

“She said they got a tip warning them that there are going to be prank calls about a break in at the high school. She said if I called again that they were gonna trace it and have me arrested.”

Allison huffed. “Then call again!”

It wouldn’t work, and Stiles said so. “They won’t trace a cell. Then they’ll send a car to your house before they send anyone here.”

By far the most frantic of the group, Allison was freaking out again. “What the—what is this? Why does Derek want to kill us? Why is he killing anyone?”

It was Scott’s lie, and Stiles wanted to let him stew in it. Everybody was watching Scott, waiting for an answer, but it only managed to make him angry. “Why is everyone looking at me?”

They started asking him questions, and Stiles watched him get more and more tense until he shouted at Allison. He hadn’t growled, but his tone was on the wrong side of violent, and Stiles stepped in. Grabbing at his shoulder, he said, “Why don’t we just back off the throttle here, yeah?”

He pulled Scott a few feet away, enough that his whispers would at least be hard to hear. “Okay, first off. Blaming Derek, dick move.”

“I didn’t know what to say, I had to say something! And if he’s dead then it doesn’t matter, right? Except if he isn’t.” He trailed off, and his eyes moved to look over Stiles’ shoulder at Allison. “God, I totally just bit her head off.”

Stiles didn’t have to turn around to know what he meant, and he fought back his annoyance. “And she’ll totally get over it. Bigger issues at hand here, like how do we get out alive?”

Blinking, Scott froze. “But we _are_ alive. It could have killed us like a hundred times before this. It’s like it’s cornering us or something.”

“Yeah, I noticed that too. But I don’t get it, does it want to eat us at the same time?”

“No, Derek said it wants revenge. That’s what the spiral meant.”

“Against who?”

Scott shook his head, “I don’t know, Allison’s family?”

It only made half the sense it should have. “Is that what the text was about?” Scott didn’t seem to get it, so he continued. “Someone had to send it, and it sure as hell wasn’t Derek.”

“Okay, assheads, new plan.” Jackson interrupted. “Stiles calls his useless dad and tells him to send someone with a gun and decent aim. We good with that?”

Everyone started nodding, even Scott. “He’s right. Tell him the truth if you have to, just call him!”

Stiles heart felt like it might explode, along with his brain. He stuck a finger in Scott’s face and whispered, voice shaky, “I’m _not_ watching my dad get eaten alive.”

He went to walk away, get some kind of perspective, but Jackson his hand into his own pocket, yanking out a sleek touchscreen.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Stiles snarled, taking a step forward.

Jackson scoffed at him. “ _I’m_ calling your dad. I still have his personal lin—”

Stiles swung his fist out and clocked Jackson in the jaw, sending him to the ground with a hit his dad would have been proud of.

Words came to mind in his dad’s slightly sandpapery tone. _The more scared you are, the more self aware you need to be_. They were all scared, and Stiles had an answer that could save them. He had to put his own needs aside and just trust that his dad wouldn’t let himself get hurt. They wouldn’t do that to each other. Quivering, he took his own phone out and dialled.

The call went to voicemail, and Stiles was about to leave off with just a reminder to call him when the barricaded doors shook. With a little _ting_ a couple of screws popped out of their holes and one of the bolts came off. Another hit and the chairs rattled off the sides of freezer, clanging on the ground.

“We’re at the school. Dad, we’re at the school.”

The door to the kitchen led them upstairs, which was better than nowhere. Most of the classrooms were locked up, but a chem lab door wasn’t even latched properly and they all scrambled inside, jamming a stool under the knob and holding their breath.

It walked right by them, growling loud enough Stiles didn’t understand how anyone could mistake it for a human, but there wasn’t another crash or roar. The only other way out of the room was through the roof access stairs, but it was deadbolted. Scott didn’t have the control to break it without revealing himself to everyone, so despite Stiles’ near begging, he settled for second best. Getting the key off the janitor’s body.

Stiles couldn’t help but be dazzled by Lydia’s brilliance when she insisted on using the chemicals in one of the cabinets to make Scott a Molotov cocktail as protection. He never would have thought of it, let alone been able to make it from memory. If absolutely nothing else came out of this, at least Lydia was finally dropping some of her airhead act.

She’d been pretending for years, ever since she grew boobs and discovered her natural ability to draw people in. Even worse, once Jackson started doing it too, they’d latched onto each other like limpets. A genius and a streetsmart jock burying their intelligence to keep their positions as queen and king of Beacon Hills High. It was more than tragic.

Watching Scott say goodbye to Allison was painful. As much as Stiles got sick of listening to Scott gush over her, he knew that Scott really did care. Allison did too, enough to be pissed when he left anyway, even after she called him out on lying.

They waited for Scott in silence. Well, near silence. Allison wasn’t doing well, and she was trembling hard after just a few minutes. Before Stiles could try and comfort her, or distract her from the fear, Jackson was standing next to her, clasping her hands and whispering. It was…soft.

Lydia stood at Jackson’s other side, watching the exchange with calm, analytical eyes. Like she wasn’t surprised in the least at the affection.

He wanted to ask if she was okay, but after a few seconds she snapped to attention, her gaze on the table. “Jackson, you handed me the sulfuric acid, right? It has to be sulfuric acid, it won’t ignite if it’s not.”

“I gave you exactly what you asked for, didn’t I?” Jackson snapped, a polar opposite to how gentle his face had been with Allison.

Lydia recoiled slightly, and spoke a little softer. “Yeah, yeah I’m sure you did.”

But the look on her face said she wasn’t sure at all, and Stiles was suddenly struck with a memory. How could he have forgotten that Jackson was dyslexic?

It wasn’t a well known fact, or even a known fact. Stiles was positive Jackson hid it from nearly everyone he knew. But he’d told Stiles way back in the second grade, after Stiles had had to repeat the year and met up with him in the ‘special testing’ room. It’d cemented their friendship after fifteen minutes of giggling helplessly at the flustered aide who was supposed to be walking them through the homework but instead kept losing her pencil in her own bun.

Jackson’s dyslexia was severe enough he should’ve never been put in charge of chemicals, but Lydia had done it anyway. Did she really trust him that much, or did she not know?

Having a useless chemical mixture was sure to screw with his plans, but if they were lucky he wouldn’t need it. And if they weren’t lucky, at least Scott still had his claws.

The world must have really enjoyed proving Stiles wrong, because moments later a roar echoed through the school. Where Scott’s had been powerful but calm, this one was all rage and pain. It stirred something unpleasant in Stiles’ chest, and Lydia clapped her hands to her ears, even though the sound wasn’t actually very piercing.

Stiles knew exactly what the cause of it was, but he glanced around anyway along with the rest of them, pausing only when he caught sight of a strange mark on Jackson’s neck. Not thinking about it, he reached over quickly and yanked the back of Jackson’s collar down. “What the hell is that?”

There were four cuts down the nape of Jackson’s neck, and they looked as fresh as if he’d gotten them on the way to the school. If Stiles didn’t know better, he’d think they were claw marks, curved liked fingernails, but way too deep to be human.

Jackson smacked his hand away, but it was nothing compared to Scott’s swats lately, so Stiles didn’t flinch.

“If you ever touch me again, I swear I’ll rip off your arm,” Jackson snarled. It still wasn’t as threatening as Derek or anywhere close to the monster that was hunting them right this instant. With every new and terrifying thing that happened in Stiles’ life, Jackson moved lower and lower on his list of intimidating people.

One of the few that couldn’t be cowed by Jackson, Lydia crossed her own arms and huffed. “It’s been there for days. He won’t tell me what happened.”

Like a wounded animal, Jackson lashed out viciously, “It’s none of your damn business.”

“Alright, can we not argue for half a second here?” Stiles cut in.

Allison and Scott were made for each other, honestly. Completely oblivious to the rest of the world, Allison was pulling on her hair and leaning heavily against the counter. “Where’s Scott? He should be back by now.”

Much as he hated to admit it, she had a point. After that roar, there was no telling how hurt Scott might be. Stiles wanted to be optimistic and think that if Scott was really in danger he’d…he’d…alright maybe Stiles had no idea what he expected Scott to do. They were trapped with the Alpha, and Scott had only just learned how to keep from breaking Stiles’ ribs when he gave him a hug. He’d also never properly thrown a punch in his life, so relying on technique was a no-go.

In a moment of silence after her words, there was the tiniest _snap_ , and Allison’s head jerked toward the door. Sure enough, through the bubbled glass window of the door was a distinctly human form. Allison threw herself at the door, shoving away the chair they’d wedged under the handle and yanking down on it. Nothing happened.

Scott had locked them in.

As Allison banged on the door and shouted for Scott, apparently done being quiet, Stiles tried to figure out why Scott wouldn’t have just come back if he had the keys they were looking for. Maybe the Alpha was on his tail? But, then a door wouldn’t stand in its way.

“Stop, stop!” Lydia cried.

Shocked, Allison went quiet.

“Do you hear that?” Lydia whispered.

Together they waited, ears strained. At first there was nothing, but then on the very edge of Stiles’ hearing, there were sirens. How Lydia had heard it while Allison was shouting, Stiles didn’t know, but they were growing louder by the second.

They rushed over to the window and peered through the glass to see at least three cop cars pull into the drive, lights flashing and sirens wailing.

Once they’d waved down Stiles’ dad, things got hectic again. This time it was a good hectic, with strong gun carrying policemen letting them out of the room and escorting them down to the front lobby to explain what’d happened to the ceiling. If it’d been just Scott and Stiles, Stiles wasn’t sure they would’ve been taken seriously, but with Jackson and Lydia and Allison all spooked as hell and talking about crazy Derek Hale chasing them down the halls, no officer dared contradict them.

Except of course, Sheriff Stilinski. Stiles couldn’t have been more proud when his dad just frowned at Scott’s insistence that it was Derek who’d done it. Scott’d shown up out of breath and sweaty as all hell just a couple seconds after the police entered the building.

“You’re sure it was Derek Hale?” The sheriff questioned, as he pushed open the front doors. At Stiles’ urging, the police were searching the building in teams of two and three, with radios on the whole time.

“Yes!” Scott huffed.

“No!” Stiles scolded.

Scott whacked Stiles in the chest with the back of his hand, taking his breath away so he couldn’t argue. “Stiles didn’t see him. I did.”

Hiding his gasping, Stiles followed behind and listened furiously to Scott’s continued fussing. “What about the janitor?” he asked.

“We found him. He was, uh…in bad shape. Had to identify him by his ID.” Scott had told them where to look. Inside the bleachers. Not just under them…no, he said to open them up. Stiles didn’t even wanna think about it.

Still not happy, Scott shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and shook them around a little. “Then why don’t you look like you believe me?”

When his dad frowned again, this time sadly, Stiles remembered a really good reason why he wouldn’t want to believe Scott. His dad had been sheriff for the last decade, which meant he’d been in office when Derek’s family died. He probably knew Derek, had met the sixteen year old that lost his family. It had to be hard to hear that a kid he’d once tried to help turned into a murderer. Derek had been exonerated once, because of the wolf hairs, but there was no way a wolf could have trapped the janitor in the bleachers and closed them on him. If Derek wasn’t dead, he was screwed.

“Listen, we’re gonna search this whole school. We’re gonna find him. Okay? I promise.” Stiles’ dad looked like he was searching for more to say, but one of his deputies called him away. “Stay,” he muttered, then he pointed at Stiles specifically. “Both of you.”

Stiles had only been adjusting his jacket around him in the cool air, and he tugged on it a little sharply in defiance as his dad walked away. Once they were out of earshot of anyone else, he swatted Scott upside the head. “You ever do that to me again, I will de-ball you just to see if they grow back so I can de-ball you again.”

It was worse than when Scott’d shoved him or pulled too hard. He’d done it on purpose this time; used his super strength against Stiles, just to keep him quiet. The ache in his chest wasn’t entirely physical anymore. Even if Derek hadn’t said Stiles was supposed to be like Scott’s packmate, he’d always thought they were brothers.

Scott was barely paying attention, staring at the ground fiercely.

“Fine, whatever, I guess we can just enjoy the fact that we survived. We outlasted the Alpha, mostly. It’s still good, right? Being alive?” Stiles patted his jeans with one icy hand.

Finally Scott looked him in the eye, incredulous. “When we were in the chemistry room, he walked right by us. You don’t think that it heard us? You don’t think it knew exactly where we were?”

“Well, then how come we’re still alive?”

“It wants me in its pack!” Scott’s voice was a little too loud, and he paused for a second to let an officer get by them. “But I think, first,” he continued, “I have to get rid of my old pack.”

Stiles didn’t have to question what that meant. He’d thought it himself a few moments ago. Essentially, a pack was your family. The people you spent the most time with. For Scott that meant people like Allison, his girlfriend, Lydia and Jackson, his lacrosse friends. It meant people like Stiles.

“The Alpha doesn’t want to kill us…” Stiles muttered, understanding finally. Why the text was sent, why the Alpha never caught up to them even though it could have any time it wanted.

Turning away, Scott’s response was almost a whisper. “It wants me to do it.”

They let that horrifying reality sink in for a moment, then Scott added, “And that’s not even the worst part.”

Screw his hands, Stiles yanked them out of his pockets to gesture wildly, choking on his words with passion. “How in h-holy _hell_ is that not the worst part, Scott?”

Still not looking at him, Scott said, “Because when he made me shift…” he turned back to Stiles as a cop walked by and lowered his voice again. “I wanted to do it…I wanted to kill you…all of you.”

When he lowered his head, Stiles saw his Scotty again. Ashamed of even the thought of wanting to hurt somebody. Stiles hated how he wasn’t sure if he should hug Scott. If there was ever a time for hugs, finding out someone is trying to brainwash you into murdering your friends was probably one of those times. But he just…wasn’t sure. Scott had been so strange lately, quick to anger and faster to violence. All the teasing jabs and shoulder slaps that Stiles was so used to passing between them held a hidden bite, a chance of actually pissing Scott off, or getting hurt.

Before he could run too deep into that line of thought, Scott raised his head and took a deep breath through his nose. He sniffed. Loudly. Then his eyes caught on something and he stumbled forward as if propelled.

Stiles followed him over to an ambulance that’d come behind the cop cars and distributed shock blankets. Sitting on the step was Deaton.

He was talking to an EMT, and there was a bloody bandage over the cut on his cheek, a white contrast to his umber brown complexion. He hadn’t healed. Surely taking the big beasty form would have healed something so small. Right? If Deaton hadn’t healed then there was no way he could be the Alpha.

They were back to square one.

Deaton was weirdly cheerful, acting as though he had no memory of the time he spent in the clinic with Derek and Scott. He just smiled and joked about giving Scott a raise for saving him.

Stiles’ dad soon ushered them away, and Stiles leaned on his arm for a second, grateful to be seeing him again. Scott ran off almost immediately, shouting Allison’s name, and after a quick glance to make sure they were both well within view of the cops, Stiles ignored them. He stood at his dad’s side and listened as he gave more reports. The deputies had long since given up on trying to keep Stiles from overhearing police business. If they didn’t tell him, he’d find more nefarious ways to get his information.

Each time someone said Derek’s name, Stiles cringed. It wouldn’t do any good to go against Scott now. Derek was their only suspect, he was going to be brought in no matter what.

At least he wasn’t dead. Stiles had asked someone to go looking around, being vague about there being clues in the area he’d seen Derek thrown. Nothing, and no drag marks. If Derek left, he left on his own two feet. One less person for Stiles to feel guilty about. The janitor on the other hand…

When Scott’s voice became audible, Stiles looked over, only to see Allison rush toward her father’s car that was pulling up into the parking lot. She didn’t look back at Scott once, and Stiles knew something bad had gone down.

But that was an issue for another day, or at least another eight hours. All Stiles wanted right now was some sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I guess I did have a _little_ fun with it, at least with Jackson's character. Until next Saturday!
> 
> Also, please remember to check out my [Sterek tumblr](https://asterekmess.tumblr.com/) for all things sterek, and weekly posts about the new chapters that occasionally contain a little more bts details about me writing this fic. I'm always happy to reply to any comments or questions, so please feel free to message me! I've got so much background info on what I've written, and so much thought has gone into it, that I would love to ramble about it to someone other than my poor, sweet Beta [Madeline](https://beacon911.tumblr.com)


	8. Episode 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter for you guys!

For all that he’d said Scott had saved him from a lifetime of nightmares by keeping him from cutting off Derek’s arm, Stiles was getting a lot of them lately anyway. Usually he was running in the woods, the full moon above him. He was the one getting attacked, not Scott. For two nights in a row once they were saved from the high school, he was running again, down an endless hallway, and the eyes chasing him were gold instead of red.

Stiles was guilty and ashamed about the stupid dream, so he stole a bottle of Jack Daniel’s from the cupboard on Sunday and took Scott out to one of the hills that gave Beacon Hills its name. There was a small camping area, with tiny grills for hot dogs and burgers, and a couple rusted picnic tables, but they avoided it and settled near a large boulder that was at least a tiny bit inconspicuous if anyone came looking. Which they wouldn’t, because Stiles had long since memorized the patrol schedules and no one was due to come around for at least three hours.

It didn’t take much for things to go just a little soft around the edges, but Stiles kept trading the bottle with Scott because he didn’t look affected at all. He was still grumpy and silent, staring into the trees like he was on a whole different planet and not even flinching at the taste of the Jack. After they’d gone back and forth for about an hour, in which Stiles told every joke he knew and tried to come up with as many proverbs that might help as possible, Stiles was a little drunk. Or, honestly, a lot drunk.

It was nice, feeling things one at a time, instead of all at once. “So I asked Danny if he thought I was hot, and nothing. Nada. Zipperino. I knew I was pretty bad, but _damn_. So that’s why I’m sticking with girls.”

There was no response, so Stiles took another drink and let the bottle clunk softly to the ground. When had he slid off the rock? “Dude, you know, she’s just one…one girl,” he insisted. “You know, there are so many, there’s so many other girls in the sea.”

He might’ve already said that one, but it bore repeating, right? Scotty’d only been with Allison for a couple weeks, surely he could find someone else in town that he could have just as adorable a relationship with. Hopefully with less chance of being shot, or speared, or whatever it was called when you got hit with an arrow and not a bullet.

“Fish in the sea.” Scott muttered, about as expressive as a rock.

“Fish?” Stiles questioned, “Why are you talking about fish? I’m talking about girls.” He sighed then, thinking about fluttering eyelashes and soft hair. “I love girls. I love ‘em. Especially ones with strawberry blonde hair, green eyes, five foot three.”

Really, any girl that matched that description was just so pretty and perfect. Even if they were dating a total douchebag, and wouldn’t give him the time of day, and pretended they were stupid for no reason. God, even if they were so smart it made Stiles’ tongue go numb every time she turned in her tests before him and flounced back to her desk with a look of vicious triumph on her face. The two of them could have the smartest babies in the world someday, if she were only willing to say hello to him for once.

From above where Stiles’d slithered down to lay on the ground, Scott huffed. “Like Lydia?”

“Yeah, exactly! Hey, how did you know I was talking about…” Everything went a little fuzzier as the last couple shots kicked in. “What was I talking about?”

Why was Scott so cranky? He looked like Derek, all broody and furious. “Hey, you’re not happy,” Stiles cried, grabbing for the bottle. “Take a drink.” Once Scott felt like Stiles, everything would look better.

“I don’t want any more.”

Obligingly, Stiles set the bottle back down and lifted his arm above his head until he was comfortable. “You’re not drunk?”

Scott glowered at the ground, half of his face hidden in shadow, and the other half lit up under the nearly full moon. “I’m not anything.”

“Hey, maybe it’s like, maybe it’s like not needing your inhaler anymore, you know? Maybe, you can’t get drunk…as a wolf.”

If so, being a werewolf had to suck. Was Derek not able to get drunk? That was probably why he was so high strung all the time. If anybody needed to get drunk and relax a little, it was that dude.

But Stiles didn’t want to think about Derek, who he’d nearly gotten killed, and who his dad was sending blocks of patrol cars after in constant rotational shifts. That way led more guilt, and tonight Stiles wanted to not be guilty. He wanted…he couldn’t remember what exactly he wanted, so he just smiled up at Scott.

“Am I drunk?” he asked.

“You’re wasted,” was Scott’s reply.

That was cool, Stiles hadn’t been wasted before. He held one fist up and cheered, waiting for a fist bump. Nothing. Oh, right. They were drinking…because Scott was upset about breaking up with Allison. Not the time for cheering then.

Stiles dropped his fist on his thigh. “Aw, come on, dude, I know it feels bad. I know it hurts. I know.” But Stiles had never dated anyone before, so he’d never been broken up with. “Well, I don’t know.”

A giggle burst out of him as he tried to think of something more profound to say. He was supposed to be Scott’s Yoda. “But, I know this! I know that…as much as being broken up hurts, being alone is way worse.” He’d been alone. It was like his natural state of being.

It clicked after a second, and Stiles laughed again at the confused look on Scott’s face. “That didn’t make any sense,” he chuckled, rolling over to grab the bottle again. “I need a drink!”

The bottle disappeared from his grip with a little yank, and Stiles looked up to see two men standing over them. They were really tall from this angle, and Stiles’ stomach squirmed uncomfortably at the sight. Or maybe that was the alcohol.

Scott was arguing with them, and Stiles wished he would stop. “Scott, maybe we should just go.”

He was way too drunk to be dealing with this, but the adrenaline rush he was getting cleared his head enough to register serious danger, and not from the strangers.

For the first time the whole night, Scott sounded like he’d finally found something interesting enough to warrant his attention. He sounded a little like he’d found prey.

“You brought me here to get me drunk, Stiles. I’m not drunk yet.” Scott rose from his seat and squared up in front of the guy who’d grabbed the bottle.

“Give me the bottle,” he commanded, holding out a hand.

The guy smirked and shook his head, completely unaware of the danger he was in.

When the hand still behind Scott’s back grew claws, Stiles got over being drunk _really_ fast. “Scott?” he asked, not completely sure how safe it was for him to be talking. Memories of his dream were coming back to him, of Scott losing control and giving in to the Alpha’s demands.

Swiping the bottle out of the man’s hand, Scott looked the stranger in the eye as he chucked the bottle at a nearby tree, hitting it dead on and shattering it.

When Scott walked off, Stiles scrambled after him, barely sparing a glance at the terrified looking men still frozen in place.

“Okay, please tell me that was because of the breakup,” he huffed, trying not to trip over the rocks on the path. When Scott didn’t answer, he offered another reason. “Or, because tomorrow’s the full moon?”

Scott just opened up the passenger door of the Jeep and waited, back to his broody self.

That was one blessing at least, that Stiles didn’t have to drive anywhere. He walked over and propped himself against the seat for a second, trying to gauge the fury in Scott’s eyes. “Going home now, yeah?” he checked. Everything was dizzy, and if Scott tried to take the Jeep who knew where to do something stupid, Stiles wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop him.

Finally, he got a nod in response, and Stiles collapsed back into the seat, letting Scott close the door behind him. Crisis averted.

—

School being cancelled on Thursday and Friday after the break-in was mostly for the cops’ benefit. Stiles almost wished they could’ve just gone back to classes the next morning like usual, to give him something to think about that wasn’t werewolf related. Instead, he spent the entire weekend feeling slightly lost.

He’d researched his heart and soul out, and there was nothing left to find without some way to narrow down what was real and what wasn’t. Without that to keep him busy, Stiles just sat in his room and stared at his computer, wishing an “Everything You Need to Know About Werewolves” manual would pop up on his Amazon recommendation list. That, plus the nightmares, and then Sunday night’s situation, left Stiles completely at a loss.

On Monday, his dad had already left for work by the time Stiles got up. Even he had more purpose than Stiles did right now.

Purpose that apparently had brought him back to the high school, as his cruiser was parked out front when Stiles pulled up to the building. Even the sight of more than a hundred other people moving in and out of the front doors Stiles had tried to latch shut with a pair of bolt cutters didn’t hold back the anxiety rising in Stiles’ chest. His dad was in the school, where the Alpha had been running around freely only a few nights ago.

Stiles found him, thankfully, in the first place he looked. The big front office windows showed a whole room of officers and men in suits talking to the principal. Stiles needed to warn him, somehow. Even if he couldn’t tell his dad everything, he had to say _something_. So he dropped onto the floor outside the door and waited, clutching his backpack in his arms.

A period passed, and Stiles resolutely stayed in place, unnoticed by anyone inside the room and purposefully ignored by most of the kids that walked past. As the bell to end the first class rang, Stiles vaguely remembered he had a math test with Harris that’d been put off since last Thursday in a few minutes.

At the same time, the door to the office finally opened and his dad stepped out, following those same men in suits. Stiles jumped to his feet when his dad saw him, letting his backpack dangle from one hand.

“Don’t you have a test to get to?” Noah asked, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He’d been hounding Stiles about studying and not pissing off any of his teachers ever since the parent conferences that’d ended so badly. It didn’t matter that Stiles had perfect grades, his teachers weren’t his biggest fans.

Refusing to be deterred, Stiles leaned in. “What’s going on?” They’d been in the office way longer than it should have taken just to give basic safety reminders. “Did you find Derek or something?”

If Derek was in jail, maybe Stiles could get in to visit him and ask how the hell he was supposed to deal with Scott. 

“I’m workin’ on it. _You_ go take your test.”

“Alright, dad, listen to me.”

“ _Go_ —”

“This is really important. You have to be careful tonight, okay? _Especially_ tonight.”

His dad paused a second, and Stiles knew his own eyes had done the scared little kid thing Scott had pointed out so long ago. “Stiles, I’m always careful.”

They had an agreement, that they would both always be careful so they would never lose one another. Stiles was bad at keeping to it, too excited about running headfirst into situations to think of his own safety. Now it’d backfired, hurting Scott instead, and putting everyone he knew in danger. Stiles’ only consolation was that the Alpha wasn’t his fault. He knew he’d made things worse now that the Alpha wanted Scott, but at least he hadn’t somehow _made_ the Alpha crazy.

He hadn’t even known werewolves existed, just like his dad didn’t know now. “Dad, you’ve never dealt with this kind of thing before, okay? At least, not like this.”

“I know, which is why I’ve brought in people who have.” He gestured with a thumb toward the men waiting for him down the hall. “State detectives.”

When Stiles glanced over, scanning the men who were supposed to be somehow better for the job than his dad, a startlingly young detective looked over at him with a sharp gaze. Much sharper than Stiles expected from a desk jockey.

“Go take your test,” Noah said again.

The third time meant discussions were closed, so Stiles huffed a breath and lifted his backpack into his arms again, grasping at it instead of hugging his dad like he wanted to.

Stiles didn’t have to hurry to get to the class on time, but he did anyway, just to get a few jitters out. Taking a seat in the back of their geometry classroom, he watched Scott wander in.

Scott looked pretty normal until he caught sight of Allison, then his mouth tightened and he made a beeline for her desk. He didn’t get out more than her name before Harris shooed him away. Stiles really needed to come up with a good nickname for Harris. He was so eager to poke and prod at uncomfortable kids, and he took every chance possible to give his students detention. Harass, maybe?

The constant berating and deprecation Harris threw as he explained the instructions for the test left Stiles wanting to hit him on principle. Why become a teacher if he hated kids so much, let alone teach two different subjects? Nevertheless, Stiles dutifully wrote his name at the top of the booklet and dug into the questions on command. It wasn’t too hard, and he’d had plenty of time to study during the weekend, so the first page flew by.

As usual when he was trying to concentrate, Stiles fidgeted. He tapped his fingers a little on the corner of his desk, and bounced one foot on the floor. Staying still was nigh impossible most of the time, but getting the urge to move out of the way with little things helped him keep his mind focused on more important stuff.

Of course, all that was pointless when Scott jumped up out of his chair and disappeared into the hall. Not hesitating, Stiles ran after him. Who knew why Scott had left. What if the Alpha was back, or he’d heard something going down?

“Scott?” he called, heedless of Harris scolding him from inside the classroom.

A few lockers down, Scott’s backpack was abandoned on the floor. Stiles headed over and picked it up. Scott’s new phone was missing from it, so Stiles grabbed his own and called it. With his extra speed, Scott could already be outside the building by now.

To his surprise, the generic ringtone Scott hadn’t bothered to change yet sounded out faintly, a couple halls away. Following it at a half jog, Stiles reached the doorway to the locker room just in time for the ringing to stop as Scott’s phone went to voicemail. A shower was running in the back, and the lack of a fan or open window meant the area was slowly hazing over with steam. Scott’s shirt, hoodie, and phone were in a messy pile on one of the benches. 

Steeling himself to run if things were about to turn into a horror movie scene again, Stiles padded into the shower area and looked around.

Scott was shirtless, standing under the running water with his head against the wall. From the side, Stiles couldn’t see any pointed ears, and the hands he had on the tile were claw free.

Stiles’ relieved sigh got Scott’s attention, but when he turned the water off and faced Stiles, he was gasping jerkily.

“Stiles…I can’t…”

“What’s happening, are you changing?” They were still supposed to have hours before the sunset, but Scott’d been acting so strangely lately, Stiles wouldn’t be surprised if he shifted early.

But Scott shook his head and leaned heavily against the wall and faucet, staring down at his soaked jeans. “No, no I can’t breathe.”

His next breath hiccuped painfully, and Stiles caught on to what was happening. He yanked Scott’s backpack over his shoulder and fumbled his way into the smallest pocket, searching for the inhaler Scott always kept there. He may have stopped needing it, but Scott couldn’t risk his mom noticing it was missing.

The blue container was right where it was supposed to be, and he held it out. “Here, use this.” When Scott hesitated, he jerked his hand. “Come on, do it!”

Squinting confusedly, Scott took the inhaler and got in a puff. Thankfully, just the one puff seemed to work. After a few seconds, his breathing evened out, and he recovered enough to stare dubiously at Stiles.

“I was having an asthma attack?”

“No, you were having an anxiety attack. But, thinking you were having an asthma attack actually stopped the anxiety attack. Irony.” Stiles glanced around the room, suddenly feeling a bit awkward.

Scott was still frowning, but he’d spent so many years practicing deep breathing after an attack, he was still taking measured inhales. Slowly, probably trying not to irritate his cured condition, Scott asked, “How’d you know to do that?”

“I used to get them after my mom died. Not fun, huh?” he sighed uncomfortably. His anxiety attacks had certainly been at their worst just after his mom, but they’d never really gone away. Scott didn’t need to know that part, though.

Distraction was the best technique, if he caught what was happening early. His dad was an expert at helping him think about _anything_ else. As long as he wasn’t thinking about the fact that he was panicking, he could stop panicking.

With a tender shake of his head, Scott began waving his arms around. “I—I looked at her and it was like someone hit me in the ribs with a hammer.”

Stiles bit his lip. “Yeah, it’s called heartbreak. About two billion songs written about it.”

“I can’t stop thinking about her.”

While Stiles knew he clearly wasn’t the best at helping people feel better, this was quite the improvement over Scott being angry, so he did his best. “Well, you could think about this: her dad’s a werewolf hunter, and you’re a werewolf. It was bound to become an issue.” He tried to soften the blow with a smile, but Scott just glared at him. Stiles faltered and muttered, “That wasn’t helpful…”

Yeah, he was really bad at this. “God, dude, I mean…yeah, you got dumped, and it’s supposed to suck.”

“No, that’s not it. It was like I could—” His voice stuttered for a moment, and he took a deeper breath, “feel everything in the room, everyone else’s emotions. Like those chemosignals you were talking about, but it wasn’t just a scent.”

This, Stiles could handle. “It’s gotta be the full moon. So, we’ll lock you up in your room later just like we planned. That way, the Alpha, whoever it is, can’t get to you either.”

The tension had returned to Scott’s face, hardening it into a blank look. “I think we need to do a lot more than lock me in my room.”

“What, you mean because if you get out you’ll be caught by hunters?”

“No.” Scott finally lifted himself away from the wall and took a soggy step forward. “Because if I get out, I think I might kill someone.”

Stiles wasn’t entirely sure how he made it through the rest of his classes with that wonderful fact hanging over his head, but the next thing he knew, he was in the locker room again, dressed for practice this time and sitting on a bench next to a sullen and silent Scott.

Could he _really_ be blamed for being excited when Finstock called out “Bilinski” as the last name on the new first line kids? After Scott had begged Stiles to join the lacrosse team in freshman year, it took less than a couple weeks for Stiles to realize that this was his _game._ Running at top speed across a field, waving a stick around and dodging in and out around other people? Stiles’ lanky form was made for it. But since Scott was pretty much immediately sentenced to the bench, Stiles hung back to join him. They were in this together, even if it meant not playing.

Only once Scott got the bite, he’d jumped at the chance to really play, and now Stiles was still stuck on the sidelines. He didn’t even get the chance to show “improvement” on the field because he never left the bench. This kind of opportunity was _perfect_. Stiles could wow everybody on the field and join Scott where he belonged with no one the wiser.

And the typo was fine with Stiles, seeing as Finstock only bothered to remember co-captain names, and Greenburg because of how much he hated him. The rest of the time he only used names if he’d gotten a glimpse at the back of their jerseys. Oh, and Danny, but Stiles was pretty sure Finstock only used Danny’s first name because he didn’t want to try pronouncing Māhealani.

Scott was less than enthusiastic about his promotion to co-captain. Just being first line was supposed to be a dream come true for him, but now that he was at the literal highest spot on the team, Scott couldn’t be bothered. As they exited the locker room, Stiles shook his lacrosse stick for emphasis. “Seriously, you’ve been in an awful mood all day. Why isn’t this cheering you up? I’m freaking out!”

“What’s the point? It’s just a stupid title,” Scott scolded. It was a bit rich coming from the guy who’d made Stiles spend all summer practicing with him in the hopes of just getting off the bench. “Besides, I could smell the jealousy in there.”

The thought made Stiles stop, and he grabbed Scott’s arm to keep him back. “You recognized it as jealousy?” The last time Scott had tried to identify specific chemosignals had been a complete failure.

Scott squinted at him, but nodded. “Yeah, it’s like the full moon’s turned everything up to ten.”

“Um, can you pick up on stuff like…I don’t know, desire?” Unable to stop himself, Stiles’ gaze drifted down the hall to where Lydia was waiting for Jackson.

“What do you mean, desire?”

“Like, sexual desire.”

“Sexual desire?”

“Yeah, sexual desire!” Stiles exploded, “Lust, passion, arousal.” He rolled his r sharply, and hoped Scott would get the point. He was running out of synonyms.

Apparently, Scott got it all too well, because he sighed heavily and looked down the hall. “From Lydia?”

Stiles definitely did not need to be called out like that. “What? No, in a general broad sense, can you determine sexual desire?” His interests were _purely_ scientific. Really.

“From Lydia, to you?” Full moon Scott was an asshole.

“Fine! Yes, from Lydia to me. Look, I need to know if I have a chance with this girl, okay? I’ve been obsessing over her since third _freakin’_ grade, and she’s never given me the time of day, so this is like my last ditch effort.”

Ever since he’d gone to see her at home, Stiles couldn’t get it out of his head. There had to be something about him she liked, right? She’d been totally into him, even if she’d thought he was Jackson for a while. But he couldn’t exactly take her word for it since she was high, so why not have Scott check? It was pretty noninvasive, kind of, and Stiles would have a real answer.

Even though Stiles had hoped Scott would mature at least a little since he’d been through his own relationship, he was still just as clueless about the art of attraction. “Why don’t you just ask her?”

Stiles stared at him. “Well, to save myself utterly crushing humiliation. Thank you, Scott. Okay? So, please, can you just go up and ask her if she likes me?” He shrugged. “See if her heartbeat rises, pheromones come out…”

He’d half been expecting Scott to refuse, or make fun of him, since he was on a mean kick at the moment, but Scott just sighed, “Fine,” and walked off.

Unbearably grateful, Stiles burst out, “I love you. I love you!” Then, as Scott got farther away, he lowered his voice. “You’re my best friend in the whole world.”

An answer, finally. If Scott smelled even an infinitesimal amount of desire on Lydia, Stiles could finally ask her out. She could dump Jackson like a hot brick and Stiles would have his dream girl. If not, he could crawl in a hole and die. Either way, he would have peace.

When Scott followed Lydia off to an empty class to talk, Stiles’s heart welled up. Even with everything going on, Scott was still the most awesome friend in the world. Stiles owed him so much bro time. Maybe they could try going out and Stiles could be wingman again, help Scott find someone who deserved him.

Things only got better when Scott joined him on the field, strapping up his glove and telling Stiles that not only did he have a chance, but that Lydia was, quote, “Totally into,” him. Scott even looked slightly more agreeable than before, smiling out at the field in a way that was only a little unsettling.

He got solemn again though as they lined up to take shots, and Stiles couldn’t help asking, “Scott, you okay, dude? Look, I know we just got good news and all, ” Great news. Some of the best news. “but there’s still a few hours till the full moon, okay?”

Without Allison as an anchor, things were gonna be hard on Scott, and it would be better for everyone if he just took it easy.

Of course, ten seconds later, Scott was double blocked and thrown to the ground by some of Jackson’s cronies. Stiles watched in horror as Finstock teased Scott, then snapped to attention when Finstock called his first line alias, “Bilinski.” He leaned down to grab a ball in his net, only for Scott to slam him backward with his stick.

Bad, so bad. This was the worst, and Finstock was just egging Scott on. Stiles couldn’t do anything as Scott not only shoulder checked both of the guys who’d knocked him down, but sideswiped Danny in the face, snapping his neck to the side as he fell. Scott made the shot, sure, but Stiles was too busy rushing in with everyone else. A hit like that could put Danny in traction.

Jackson had already taken up his spot at Danny’s side, so Stiles yanked off his helmet and went to where Scott was turned away from everyone. “Dude, what the hell are you doing?”

“He’s twice the size of me,” Scott spat.

They both knew that had nothing to do with it. Scott could take down a guy three times, or even four times his size so long as they were human, and Danny definitely was. They were too close to the rest of the team for Stiles to point that out, so he went a different, but no less true, direction. “But everybody likes Danny, now everybody’s gonna hate you.”

Danny was nice, nice enough to be Jackson’s best friend without ever stooping to his idiocy. He’d been in their class since the fifth grade, when he moved to town. The same year that Scott’d switched to their middle school and met Stiles, actually. What the fuck was going on in Scott’s head that he would attack one of the most genuine people they knew?

Everything was crashing down around Stiles’ head, and it only got worse when Lydia ran out onto the field with her lipstick smudged out of place by someone other than Jackson. Stiles was starting to wonder if he was ever going to understand what was going on.

After packing up the supplies he’d bought in preparation for the night, Stiles headed over to Scott’s. Shitty friend or no, he wasn’t about to let Scott go running around with fangs attacking people. Especially himself.

He let himself in with the key he’d had made a couple days ago, running into Ms. McCall as she left for work.

“Stiles, he’s okay, right?”

Stiles blanched. “Who? Scott? Yeah, totally.” If homicidal and sadistic tendencies could be considered ‘okay.’ If being the shittiest friend in the world could be considered ‘okay.’ If sprouting claws, and fangs, and glowing eyes whenever he got pissed, which was more and more often lately, could be considered ‘okay.’

“He just doesn’t talk to me that much anymore, not like he used to,” Melissa said, pursing her lips and looking at the ground. Stiles had seen how much of an ass Scott was being at school, but he didn’t know how bad he was at home. What’d he been doing that had his mom so worried?

“Well, he’s had a bit of a rough week.” Stiles could only hope that once the full moon was over, Scott could go back to normal. Or, at least what was normal for him since the bite.

Ever the optimist, Melissa nodded and smiled. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. Okay, be careful tonight.”

“You too.” Logically, Melissa would be about a hundred times safer at the hospital working a night shift, than Stiles would be stuck with a vicious werewolf, but he still worried. She’d been good at walking that fine line between helping out and not trying to replace his mom, and Stiles was appreciative of it.

Melissa glanced up at him as she dug for her keys in her purse. “Full moon.”

“What.” Stiles did a double take, praying a little that he’d heard her wrong.

“There’s a full moon tonight,” she laughed. “You should see how the E.R gets, brings out all the nut jobs.”

Laughing stiffly as well, Stiles nodded emphatically. “Oh, right.”

As she made her way past Stiles, Melissa paused and shook her finger. “You know, it’s, um, actually where they came up with the word ‘lunatic’.”

Stiles jogged a little up the stairs once she left with his duffel of full moon goodies and dropped them inside Scott’s door as he turned on the light. Coming inside, he jumped back at the sight of Scott sitting in his armchair, hands curled over the arms and staring not at Stiles, but through him.

“Oh my god! You scared the hell out of me. Your mom said you weren’t home yet.” Stiles wasn’t in the mood to make much small talk, so he just shifted his bag to the middle of the floor and stood next to it.

“I came in through the window,” Scott deadpanned.

Shifting a little, Stiles knelt. “Uh, well, let’s get this set up. I want you to see what I bought.”

Scott finally shifted his gaze to Scott’s face, but it was disturbingly blank. “I’m fine. I’m just gonna lock the door and go to bed early tonight.”

“You sure about that? ‘Cause you’ve got this kind of serial killer look going on in your eyes, and I’m hoping it’s the full moon taking effect, ‘cause it’s really starting to freak me out.” Days of this, filled with Scott’s declaration of intended murder if he got out, were way too horror movie for Stiles to deal with.

Scott didn’t even blink. “I’m fine. You should go now.”

After everything that’d happened, Stiles was finally catching up. His eyes glanced toward his target, and he scooted forward a little before looking down at the floor. “Alright, I’ll leave,” he promised. He would too, eventually. Slapping a hand down onto the bag, he said, “Well, look, would you just, at least look in the bag and see what I bought? You know, maybe you use it, maybe you don’t. Sound good?”

Thankfully, Scott did get up, keeping eye contact all the while. Crouching across the bag, he dug his hand into the pile of heavy chains Stiles had brought and lifted them, letting the links fall back in slowly as he spoke. His voice rippled into something darker and inhuman. “You think I’m gonna let you put these on, and chain me up like a dog?”

As the last link lowered, Stiles took his chance. “Actually, no.” He dove forward, securing one side of the cuff he’d had hidden in his hand around Scott’s wrist and upsetting the precarious balance Scott had until he fell into the radiator under the window, to which Stiles attached the other end of the cuff. He had just enough time to scramble away before Scott lunged at him.

“What the hell are you doing?” Scott shouted, pulling at his wrist and watching it catch again and again in the cuff.

Stiles kept his distance. “Protecting you from yourself, and giving you some payback for making out with Lydia.”

Rather than stay in the room, Stiles caught the handle of his duffel with one foot and pulled it back toward him out of Scott’s reach before digging underneath the chains to find his prize. Then he ran down to the kitchen and grabbed a half bottle of water from the fridge. As he poured it into the dog bowl with Scott’s name scribbled across it, Stiles tried to think that he actually felt somewhat better by doing it. Dog jokes were the least of what Scott deserved.

His cool and collected punishment snapped when the dinky metal bowl thunked him between the shoulder blades, where he’d gotten all of those bruises.

“You kissed her, Scott, okay? You kissed Lydia. That’s my—that’s like the _one_ girl that I ev—and you know the past three hours, I’ve been thinking, it’s probably just the full moon. You know, he doesn’t even know what he’s doing and tomorrow he’ll be totally back to normal. But it’s not just this! You’ve been awful and a son of a bitch since the day you got bit. You didn’t hurt Allison, but you hurt me! Me? I’m supposed to be your _brother_! You let my dad get hurt, and you’ve been acting like a jackass to everyone around you, but especially me! And now you do this?”

“She kissed me.”

For a second, Stiles couldn’t breathe. “What?”

Scott grinned when he saw he’d hit a nerve, and he shifted his position so he could look Stiles in the face, eyes cold and hungry. “I didn’t kiss her. She kissed me.” He continued as Stiles moved out into the hall and leaned against the wall, voice taking on the same rippling effect that dug into Stiles’ chest. “She would have done a lot more too. You should have seen the way she had her hands all over me. She would have done anything I wanted. Anything!”

The last word was shouted, echoing in Stiles’ ears even after he’d covered them up. He slid down the wall to the floor, hiding his face in his knees.

In the third grade, Lydia Martin had flounced up to the front of the classroom during show and tell and declared that they should all get used to taking orders from her, because one day she would be president and they would all be working for her. Stiles had instantly fallen in love and promised her after class that he’d be happy to help her practice being president during recess if she wanted to. Her response was simply, “I don’t need to practice.” From then up until she attached herself to Jackson’s group during middle school, Stiles had followed her around like a lost puppy, dressing in his best clothing every day and telling everyone who would listen, essentially just his parents, that one day he would be her vice president.

For years, she’d pretended he didn’t exist, and that was okay. Not knowing he existed still implied that one day he might make it onto her radar. He still wore blazers to school most days, hoped his own shaved hair wouldn’t put her off. He was ready, any time she wanted to say hello back to him in the halls.

But…he’d thought Scott was on the same level as him. The entire time they’d been best friends, Lydia had ignored Scott too. They were social rejects, but at least they were social rejects together. It was worth it as long as he had Scott at his back. Getting on first line hadn’t seemed to make too much of a difference. Lydia always sat with first line, so just because she was sitting at their table, it didn’t mean she gave Scott or Stiles a second glance. Only, apparently she had, and Stiles just hadn’t noticed: too caught up in worrying about Scott’s werewolf issues to realize that Lydia had been eyeing Scott the whole damn time.

And there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t even leave and go home and gorge himself on junk food until things stopped hurting. Stiles had to stay within earshot of Scott the whole night.

He stayed in the hall with the bedroom door shut, rubbing at his eyes, and then at his head when it started to ache. All the while, the sounds from the bedroom stayed the same. The clanking of the handcuffs against the leg of the radiator, once, twice, three times, then silence for a while, then it started up again. A half hour into it, Scott started to talk again.

He whined, sounding so pitiful it hurt as he begged, “Stiles, please let me out. It’s the full moon, I swear. You know I wouldn’t do any of this on purpose.” When Stiles didn’t respond, he changed tactics, like a hyena trying to draw some hapless villager away from the group by sounding like a crying child. “Please, Stiles, let me out. It’s starting to hurt. It’s not like the first time.”

Stiles didn’t want to think about what chemosignals he was sending out, what emotions Scott was picking up on, but he couldn’t help the pang of worry and guilt at Scott hurting. He didn’t want to hurt him.

Scott fed on it, pushing forward with his plea. “It’s the full moon. It’s Allison breaking up with me…I know that it’s not just taking a break. She broke up with me. And it’s killing me. I feel completely hopeless.” And Stiles would have been swayed, if he hadn’t reverted again. “Just, please, let me out.”

All the anger felt pointless now, and Stiles just wanted this to stop. But if he let Scott go, or left himself, it would put more people at risk. “I can’t,” he whispered.

After the sunset, there was still a lot of cloud cover over Beacon Hills. Stiles had remembered how Scott said having the direct rays of moonlight on him were what really kickstarted his shift, and he’d hoped the clouds would stay all night, dulling the moon’s effect. He knew exactly when the wind started to blow those clouds away, because Scott went nuts.

The yanking on the handcuff grew frantic and constant, and Scott stopped trying to bargain, just yanked and muttered, “No, no, no!”

It was his scream that caught Stiles off guard. He hadn’t screamed last time, when he’d locked himself in his room, hadn’t sounded like he was in agony. It just went on and on, until Stiles covered his ears again and banged his head against the wall behind him a few times. If he’d just figured this all out sooner, found a better way to keep Scott safe without hurting him. If he hadn’t dragged Scott into the damn woods in the first place.

Scott’s scream grew louder, and turned into more of a roar than anything else, and Stiles was about to just burst into tears. The last time he’d heard someone screaming like that, it’d been his mom, and they’d been dragging her away from him. 

Suddenly, the sound stopped. Sniffling a little, Stiles called out into the silence. “Scott, are you okay? Scott?”

There was no answer, no nothing. Even the crickets around Scott’s house had either gone silent or fled in the face of a pissed off werewolf. Stiles rose to his feet and unlatched the door, pushing into the room carefully, in case it was another trick.

It was empty. The window was open, and blood was splattered over the radiator, down to the destroyed handcuffs on the floor. Swearing wildly, Stiles dashed back down the hall.

Of course handcuffs hadn’t been enough to hold Scott. All Stiles had managed to do was piss him off, drive him just that little extra bit of crazy that could make someone very dead, very soon. Scott had been right, this wasn’t like the last full moon. Scott didn’t have an anchor, and the Alpha had been trying to make him bloodthirsty and it looked like it worked. Scott hurting someone wasn’t a question of _if_ , it was _who_ and _when_. Someone was going to die tonight.

As Stiles slammed into the Jeep and peeled off down the road, he mashed at the screen of his phone and pressed it to his face as it started ringing. He had a last resort.

_“Stiles?”_

“Derek! Thank god, I need your help.”

The option to call Derek had been stewing in Stiles’ head since the night at the school, he just couldn’t make himself do it. He tried telling himself it was because he didn’t want to accidentally blow Derek’s cover by interrupting him while he was trying to hide or something, but that excuse only went so far. Really, Stiles was guilty. After overthinking things way too much, he knew that Derek hadn’t just been telling them to shut up that night because he was annoyed. He’d heard something, and they were distracting him. If Stiles hadn’t been so busy trying to make a joke, Derek might not have gotten hurt, and then Scott wouldn’t have called down the wrath of California’s state department on Derek’s head.

Dealing with Scott on his own had felt like a decent enough punishment, but now Stiles was going to get everyone hurt because he was too much of a coward to call earlier. A frustrating pattern was emerging in his life.

 _“What?”_ Derek asked, tense and just as annoyed as he had every right to be.

“I’m sorry, I’m like a thousand times sorry, and I know Scott’s probably sorry too, but please.”

Stiles almost missed the response as he skidded around a corner on his way toward the preserve. It was the only place he knew Scott had gone last time.

_“No, Stiles, what happened?”_

“Scott’s gone,” Stiles blurted. “He was acting batshit crazy lately, and I had to chain him to the radiator, and then he broke out and now he’s gone and I don’t know where.”

When Derek huffed, Stiles almost smashed his phone in frustration. _“He’s probably just going to go stalk his girlfriend again until he cools off. Don’t worry about it, she’s his anchor.”_

“No! You don’t get it! They broke up! She dumped him, and he’s been out of wack ever since. I mean like Alpha pawn, murder your best friends and anyone else who gets in your way, out of wack. Derek, I’m not gonna find him in time!” Stiles’ grip on the steering wheel was loose at best from how badly he was sweating, and he almost lost control as he made another turn, nearly dropping his phone onto the floor in the process.

Finally, Derek seemed to understand Stiles’ situation. _“Do_ not _go looking for him,”_ he warned. _“I’ll find him. Find anyone else who’s pissed him off recently, and stay by their side, but call me if he shows up. Call me and run.”_

As Derek hung up, the reassurance that someone capable of handling Scott was on the job helped Stiles relax, only up until he realized who the last person to piss Scott off besides Allison was. His dad. Scott had been furious when Stiles’ dad didn’t believe him about Derek.

Stiles knew all of his father’s routes by heart, so when he didn’t find him driving along the stretch of road he’d been assigned to that night, his throat threatened to close up completely. It was pure chance when he caught sight of flashing patrol lights, but he followed them dutifully, pulling in behind another car to join the already packed wood clearing.

They were back up at the campgrounds, where Stiles had taken Scott to get drunk, and there was a covered body on a stretcher waiting to be lifted into the ambulance.

The sheriff’s vehicle was there, empty, when Stiles climbed out of his Jeep. Trying to calm his bubbling and rolling stomach, Stiles headed toward the backs of two uniformed men that looked roughly like his father.

“Dad?” he asked. “Dad?” He grabbed the shoulder of one of them, but it was just a deputy, reaching for his arm with worried eyes. No, no, this couldn’t be happening. “Have you seen my dad?”

The body on the stretcher was so close, one bloody hand hanging off the edge. If…if it was…god, Stiles _had_ to know. He was inches away, about to lift the tarp up, when a voice called out.

“Stiles?”

Head spinning, Stiles turned around to face his dad. No bruises, no cuts, just a wrinkled uniform and a creased forehead. Just home. Stiles crashed into his father, not trusting himself to close his eyes, he just clung for as long as his dad would let him and breathed him in. Whatever else happened, his dad was okay, and that was all that mattered.

Not twenty minutes later, while Stiles was still waiting in his Jeep to follow his dad home, he got a text.

**Sourwolf: Scott is under control.**

**__** _He didn’t hurt anyone, did he?_

**Sourwolf: No.**

**__** _Thank you. Seriously._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have too much to say about this chapter. It wasn't too horribly long, or too horribly short. A nice, medium chapter, with lots of Fuck Scott overtones, and a little bit of chatting with Derek at the end. Woot. Come visit me on [tumblr](https://asterekmess.tumblr.com/) or something!


	9. Episode 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, okay, so I forgot how long I'd made this chapter. Uh, here you go! Finally, Peter appears.

For a few weeks, nothing happened. Scott showed up to school the day after the full moon with a tight hug and radiating unhappiness. He caught Stiles up on what’d happened on the full moon, for the first time not throwing in any snide comments about the way that Derek had had to throw him into a few trees to get Scott to stop going after him. As quietly as he whispered the words “kill the Alpha,” there was still a glimmer of hope in his eyes at being cured.

The idea that killing the one who bit Scott would turn him human again sounded a little too much like a vampire story, and he still hadn’t heard an actual apology, but Stiles didn’t care anymore. His wish was coming true.

At first, Scott getting bitten had sounded like the absolute coolest thing to ever happen in Beacon Hills. Then, admittedly, he’d gotten a bit jealous. All the strength and strange charisma. A healing ability that might’ve fixed Stiles’ ADHD, might’ve given him _something_ so he could be the one standing out in school. It was hard not to wish that he’d been the one bitten.

But, if Stiles had been bitten, not a lot would really have changed. Instead, he would be the one getting brainwashed by an Alpha, trying to kill his dad and his friends. He had proof now that Lydia would never be into him, so he could scratch that off the list as well. He would be the asshole.

None of that mattered now. If Stiles could get Scott back, _his_ Scott, it was worth it.

Whatever influence the Alpha had had on Scott seemed to have disappeared now, and he was back to his post-bitten self. Still too aggressive, still alternating between moping like a kicked puppy whenever Allison was around and getting a greedy look in his eye when he spoke about being human again. But, it was obvious he was _trying_ to be better.

As far as Stiles could tell, Scott remembered the full moon. All of it. Including Stiles’ rant. Neither of them talked about it, but Stiles could see Scott’s hesitation when he went to smack Stiles on the shoulder. A tiny pause in the air, before he hit Stiles with a very soft _thump_. He’d also stopped growling, at least in Stiles’ direction.

It was progress, and Stiles appreciated it.

As usual, things went to hell in a handbasket when Stiles got a call on a Thursday night.

_“Where’s Scott?”_

Stiles had been so fired up to help with whatever was going on, his whole brain rebooted at the question. “What? He’s at home. Wait, is he missing? What’s going on?”

 _“Stiles,_ shut up _.”_ Derek was actually panting from exertion, something Stiles hadn’t seen Scott do since the bite, the rush of wind staticking up the call. _“Get Scott. Take him to my car. At the school. Keys under the hood. Tell him to—”_

The sound of sirens cut him off, and a frustrated growl came over the line, following by the distinct clanging of a chain link fence. The sirens faded a little, then Derek continued, panting harder. _“He needs to draw the hunters off my trail. I can get away from the cops, but if the Argents come after me, I’m screwed.”_

“How are we supposed to draw the hunters out?”

_“With my car! Tell Scott to drive past the Argent house, they’ll recognize it. Now go!”_

Stiles couldn’t tell if the call was disconnected on purpose, but he ran out of the room anyway, stopping in his dad’s room to dig out a spare radio from the bedside table. He called Scott on the way, telling him just enough to get him out of the house.

He filled him in on the rest of the story in the Jeep, with the doors locked. Even though he knew that Scott had _technically_ buried the hatchet with Derek in the interest of getting cured, Scott still didn’t actually like the guy.

“What the hell was he doing at the school?”

There it was. “I don’t know, and I don’t care, Scott.”

“He shouldn’t have been there.”

“He shouldn’t be forced to run from the cops either! Guess whose fault that is?”

That shut Scott up until they got to the school and pulled up next to Derek’s Camaro. To Stiles’ surprise, after he grabbed the keys from their magnetic box under the hood where Derek said they would be and unlocked the car, Scott climbed into the passenger seat. From the way Derek had spoken, Stiles had just assumed Scott would be driving.

There wasn’t time to argue about it, and Stiles would never give up an opportunity to drive such a beautiful vehicle even in the most dire of circumstances, so he just got into the driver’s seat and headed out. They had to retrace some of their distance to get back around to Allison’s house, and just before they reached it, Stiles couldn’t help asking, “You didn’t want to drive?”

“God no, not if we’re gonna be in a car chase,” Scott cried. “I drive my mom’s car like once a week, I’ll kill us or something. Besides, if we get pulled over, you’re the only one who’s legal to drive, except for me being under twenty. I’ve still got curfew until I turn seventeen.”

It took _seconds_ after they’d rolled past the Argent household for a familiar SUV to appear on the road a few blocks behind them. Now came the hard part.

“Scott, you keep watch. If they catch us, we’re as dead as Derek would be.”

Car chases were nothing like the movies, and Stiles kind of wanted to hunt down the writers of the _Fast and Furious_ franchise and stab them or something for being so wildly inaccurate. The need to drive faster and faster didn’t negate the absolute terror every time he went around a bend, that this was the time they were going to die. Or at least Stiles would. Scott would probably just jump out of the car and get away without a scratch.

Their only blessing was that the stretch of road Stiles was currently doing eighty-five on was empty for quite a ways. Things got a little more complicated when the road started to bend in curves that just couldn’t be taken at such a high speed. Stiles slowed down as little as possible while still keeping the wheels of the car on the right side of the double lines, but it only made Scott shake his head.

“Did Derek even mention how we were supposed to get out of this? How do car chases end, besides death?” Scott asked, body twisted in the seat to look out the back window. The radio Stiles had stolen was clutched in Scott’s hand, spitting static and the occasional update on where the squad of cars chasing Derek was heading.

Stiles wasn’t particularly listening, as the road had straightened out again in front of them, but he knew the answer anyway. He needed to outrun them long enough to hide. Stiles shifted gears again and pushed the Camaro even faster than before. Luxury vehicles had some serious benefits.

It was too easy. As soon as Stiles got to ninety-five, Scott blew out a breath and sighed, “They’re gone. We did it.”

Then, the voice of Stiles’ dad came through the radio. “All units, suspect is on foot, heading into the ironworks.”

Slamming on the brakes, Stiles took the nearest left, his heart jumping into his throat when the wheels actually screeched on the road.

“What are you doing? They have him cornered!”

Stiles shook his head, “No, they don’t. Dad said ‘into the ironworks.’ There’s like four entrances, remember? But there’s only one main entrance that people use. If Dad were at any other entrance, he’d call out its name. We can go in from the back and pick up Derek before they send any men in. They think he’s a serial killer, they’re not gonna rush in.”

Thanking everything that they were so close to the ironworks, Stiles skidded the Camaro through the open gate at the back of the building just in time to see a burst of bright light at the opposite end. Was that flash bomb? The police didn’t…shit.

“Get in the back, Scott!”

Obligingly, Scott dove into the backseat and shoved the passenger door open from behind it the instant Stiles had the car stopped. “Get in!” he shouted to the dark crouching figure next to a machine. A moment later, Derek was panting in the car and actual goddamn bullets were being shot at Stiles.

The east entrance was unguarded as well, and Stiles raced through it toward the darkest road he could find. The police would have stormed the place after hearing gunshots and the last thing Stiles needed was his dad figuring out Derek had accomplices. They just needed to lay—

“What part of laying low don’t you understand?” Scott shouted from the back. He leaned up to the space between the front seats and glared at Derek. Apparently, he’d realized the consequences of not being the driver. He looked a little like a pissy kid yelling at his parents from the backseat.

Derek wasn’t paying attention to him, instead slamming his fist onto the dashboard. However angry he looked, he didn’t do any damage to the car. “Damn it, I had him!”

“Who, the Alpha?” Stiles blinked over at him for a second before taking a slightly slower turn into the industrial section of town. Lots of garages and warehouses to hole up in but no one to call the cops on them, plus he knew a route back to the school through there. Memorizing maps of Beacon Hills when he was bored was suddenly becoming a useful skill.

“Yes!” Derek barked. “He was right in front of me and the friggin’ police showed up.”

The defense came as a reflex, “Oh, hey, they’re just doing their jobs,” but internally, he was trying to stifle a laugh. Did Derek seriously just say “friggin?”

The car went silent for a moment, and Stiles realized he was probably being glared at, but he kept his eyes on the road. A mantra of _Don’t poke the wolf, Don’t poke the wolf_ sounded in his head.

“Yeah, thanks to someone who decided to make me the most wanted fugitive in the _entire state_.” Derek was glaring back at Scott then. There was a lot of glaring going on in this car. Shouldn’t they be celebrating their daring escape instead?

Besides, Derek’s use of the singular surprised Stiles. How did he know it was Scott who’d thrown him to the police dogs? Stiles hadn’t mentioned it, not wanting to be _that_ guy. It was his own fault too, he probably should have tried harder to argue with Scott, both in the school and when they were giving their report.

Scott was still in yelling mode. “Can we seriously get past that? I made a dumbass mistake, I get it!”

“Alright!” Stiles shouted, using his sheriff voice. “Can we _please_ stop screaming while the ADHD guy is driving? You wanna die? This is how we die.”

Another few blessed moments of silence, until Stiles asked _calmly_ , “How did you find him?”

Since he’d been able to slow down again, now to a legal speed, Stiles chanced a look over at Derek to see his response. Which was an honest-to-god snort, and then Derek looked out the window.

Scott piped up again. “Can you try to trust us for at least half a second?”

“Yeah, both of us.” Stiles was starting to wonder if it was a coincidence that he’d had to get all of his information through Scott. Derek never stuck around long enough for Stiles to come hear it for himself.

This time, Stiles caught Derek’s look. It wasn’t even a glare, it was more like Derek was trying to melt Stiles with invisible laser beams coming out of his eyes. What the fuck? “Or, just him. I’ll be over here, driving the getaway vehicle. Love the car, by the way.” He stopped when Scott swatted his shoulder. Gently, thank god.

Huffing, Derek spoke. “Look, the last time I talked to my sister, she was close to figuring something out. She found two things: the first was a guy named Harris—”

Stiles jerked the wheel a little. “Our _chemistry_ _teacher_?”

“Why him?” Scott asked.

“I don’t know yet.” The words sounded painful for Derek to say, and even though he started the short sentence roughly, it faded to a sort of defeat by the end.

Well, Stiles knew what he was going to be looking up for the rest of the night.

Scott shifted a little in his seat, scooting past the slight awkwardness. “What’s the second?”

After digging around in one of his pockets, Derek pulled out a scrap of thick paper and unfolded it. “Some kind of symbol,” he muttered. In the middle of the paper was an emblem shape, with a four legged creature at its center and some kind of starburst in the top left corner. It looked familiar.

Before Stiles could figure out where he’d seen the image before, he heard Scott sigh.

“What?” Derek asked, “You know what this is?”

“I’ve…seen it on a necklace.”

It clicked for Stiles at the same time as Scott said, “Allison’s necklace.”

Derek kicked them out of the car once they got back to the school and drove off with a growled warning in Scott’s direction about getting the necklace, leaving Stiles to take Scott home, then head back to his own place and try to look like he hadn’t just been helping a wanted fugitive under his dad’s nose.

As much as it hurt, when his dad came home frustrated and muttering to himself about what could possibly scare the police dogs so much, Stiles pretended to have fallen asleep while doing homework. It mostly consisted of falling flat on his back and snoring softly when he heard his dad come up the stairs. This would probably be one of the few times that his dad would actually let him in on the investigation, ask for his help even, just another set of eyes. But Stiles wasn’t sure that if he looked at all the evidence he wouldn’t accidentally let something slip that would put Derek, and consequently Scott, in more trouble. Turning him the wrong way wasn’t even an option.

—

Stiles showed up to school sleep deprived and annoyed. He’d learned some pretty wild things about Harris the night before, but nothing that would actually do him any good. Former military, former alcoholic, lost his license for a while because of some DUI’s, but other than that, pretty goddamn useless. Not to mention there was no way for him to actually talk to Harris, because after his ‘close shave’ with alleged serial killer Derek Hale, Harris was put into protective custody.

By the time he left Scott to head to his locker, Scott at least looked determined to get the necklace so they could search it for clues. Get the necklace, kill the Alpha, cure Scott, and then maybe loverboy could get back together with her. It was enough to get Scott motivated anyway. Until something came along to screw up their already screwy lives.

It was a mistake, Stiles admitted it. He should never have let Jackson sit so far down on his radar. The dude wasn’t just a bully, he was a smart bully.

Besides, they weren’t exactly being subtle with Scott’s powers. He was still bouncing around the lacrosse field like nothing was strange about his abrupt increase in speed and dexterity, still growling once in a while during practice when things got too heated. Honestly, it was a miracle they hadn’t been found out before. It was another miracle that Jackson’s realization of Scott’s werewolfness didn’t happen while Derek was free to roam the town, or Scott would probably be in pieces.

“How the hell did he find out?” Was there something specific that’d tipped him off?

Scott shook his hands out again, clearly trying to find some control. “I have no idea.”

Searching for some option where this wasn’t happening, Stiles asked, “Did he say it out loud? The word?”

“What word?”

“Werewolf,” Stiles whispered. “Did he say ‘I know you’re a werewolf’?”

“No, but he implied it pretty frickin’ clearly.”

Right. So, this was happening. Fuck. “Maybe it’s not as bad as it seems. I mean, he doesn’t have any proof, right?” Scott shook his head. “And if he wanted to tell someone, who’s going to believe him anyway?”

“How about Allison’s father?”

“Okay, it’s bad.”

The amount that Scott trusted Stiles was heartwarming, but also painful. He put a hand on Stiles’ shoulder as though he could offer all the answers and sighed, “I need a cure. Right now.” 

And of course, the only way to get him that supposed cure, was to kill the Alpha. So first they needed to find the Alpha. What evidence was left that they were missing? What lead hadn’t they already tried?

There was the necklace, obviously, but how far could a necklace go in helping them locate a mythical creature? There had to be something else…

“Okay, where’s Derek?”

Scott shrugged, “Hiding like we told him to, why?”

“I have another idea. It’s gonna take a little time to finesse, though.”

“But we have that game tonight. It’s quarterfinals, and it’s your first game,” Scott reminded him.

Stiles had almost forgotten that he was on first line now. Practices weren’t any different, and the other guys didn’t exactly treat him better. The only difference would be his chance to play tonight. He just needed to get things figured out by then.

He got the first step of his plan taken care of by lunch, only to find that Scott still hadn’t gotten the necklace. If Stiles could manage to get Danny Māhealani to switch lab partners to work with him, _and_ convince him to study together at Stiles’ place after school, what the hell was so hard about a necklace?

“Okay, I came up with a ‘Plan B’ just in case anything like this happened.”

Scott leaned back in his chair and stared down at his chicken strips. “What’s ‘Plan B’?”

“Just steal the stupid thing.”

But of course that wouldn’t go down well with Scott. “Couldn’t we at least try getting to Harris?”

“My dad put him on a twenty-four hour protective detail, okay? The necklace is all we’ve got. Steal it. Thank you,” Stiles snapped. It was probably better not to get Scott’s hopes up about his own plan until he knew if it would work. Besides, what was a little theft? They’d give it back right after.

Stiles didn’t know what Jackson had been whispering to Scott about from across the cafeteria, but he knew it couldn’t have been good with the way Scott was shaking. It was probably not the best time for it, but Stiles couldn’t help but be proud of Scott’s control up until he snapped his lunch tray in half. There’d been no flashing eyes, no claws, and no fur. Maybe Scott was finally getting better at this, just in time to be cured.

There was no doubt about Jackson though. He knew Scott was a werewolf, and he wanted to be one too.

Stiles left Scott to find and steal Allison’s necklace after school so he could get home and set up before Danny arrived. If he already had all the pages open and the programs that Danny needed, then maybe he’d be less likely to say no. It would probably help if Stiles did the lab work too.

As he dropped into his computer chair, Stiles could hear his dad coming into the hall. “Hey, Stiles!”

“Yo D—” Stiles spun around in his chair to face the door, only to see Derek looming behind it. “Derek?” Brows already pinched like they’d been arguing for a while, Derek shook his head and pointed out the door. Scrambling, Stiles jumped across his room and into the hall, closing the door behind him as far as he could without looking too suspicious.

His dad was dressed in plainclothes and frowning at him. “What’d you say?”

“What? I said, Yo D—Dad.”

Luckily, his dad was too preoccupied to notice. “Listen, I’ve got something I gotta take care of, but, uh, I’m gonna be there tonight. I mean, your first game.”

Oh, fuck. “My first game…gosh, great, awesome. Uh…good.” He just needed to finish up his research before the game started.

Smiling warmly, his dad continued. “I’m very happy for you, and I’m really proud of you.”

Lacrosse had originally been Scott’s big bright idea for getting noticed in freshman year. All the girls, and one in particular, liked athletes, so Stiles had been game. Surely Stiles and Scott could be athletes. Only, Stiles’d never been able to actually show how capable he really was. Scott had done his try-out first and after the coach designated him to the bench, Stiles had bombed his own on purpose.

His dad had come to most games anyway, even if all Scott and Stiles ever did was sit on the side, but eventually, Stiles had told him not to bother. It was pointless and costly for his dad to take shifts off just to see him dress up and sit down for a couple hours.

The moment would have been nice, but all Stiles could think about was what would happen if his dad tried to get in his room and saw Derek. “Thanks. Me too.” Wait, shit. “I’m happy and proud…of myself.”

“So, they’re really gonna let you play, right?” There had been a few close calls at the beginning where Stiles thought he would get on the field anyway, only to watch Greenburg get picked instead.

“Yeah, Dad! I’m first line,” Stiles grinned. The words still felt good.

They shared a look of near disbelief before Stiles dad repeated, “I’m very proud.”

“Oh, me too. Again—I’m…oh,” Stiles took the hug carefully, trying to keep his back foot hooked around the corner of the door to hold it in place. He nearly tripped, but the movement ended up latching his door anyway, so it was a win. Unable to think of anything better to say, Stiles found himself muttering as he backed away, “Huggie…huggie, huggie…” Of all the times to sound like a gibbering idiot, he had to pick the time when a very dangerous, very hot, very judgmental werewolf was hiding in his room listening to every word.

Even his dad seemed to notice now, but after seventeen years, apparently he was used to it. “See you there.”

“Take it easy!” Saying goodbye, at least, Stiles could do.

As soon as his dad was out of sight, Stiles clambered back into his room and turned the lock. “I’m sor—”

Suddenly, he was flipped around and pinned against the door with a very threatening finger pointed at his throat and a hand twisted into the front of his shirt. “If you say one word…” Stiles knew he was annoying, but using a claw to slit his throat felt a little unwarranted. What exactly had he done to piss Derek off so much?

Normally, having someone leaning into his space like this would freak Stiles out to the nth degree. But Derek didn’t look all that dangerous right now, or even angry, possible throat clawing aside. He was just weirdly blank.

“Oh, what? You mean like, ‘Hey Dad, Derek Hale’s in my room…bring your gun?’ Who the fuck do you think I am?”

The grip on him tightened, pushing Stiles even flatter, but after a moment, Derek removed his finger from its Stiles-slicing location. His eyes slid off Stiles’ face to bore into the door instead, vacant, and if Stiles didn’t know better, frightened. For a while, Stiles just let him process, a little worried about moving and possibly startling Derek into doing something painful, but eventually he got bored and lifted his hands to poke at Derek’s shoulders with each of his index fingers. It was barely a touch, but Derek swayed backward at the contact and blinked at him, looking down at Stiles’ clipped nails.

It felt kind of wrong to make fun of Derek when he’d just had some kind of an out-of-body experience, but Stiles couldn’t help muttering, “God, your trust issues are like Olympic gold worthy.”

The hands gripping him let go immediately, and Derek backed away a step, shaking his head slightly. Stiles continued, straightening his jacket, “If you wanted to hide here, why didn’t you just text me instead of being creepy?”

Derek didn’t answer, just glared wickedly at him and backed up some more. If it was the last thing Stiles did, he was gonna get Derek to talk. “Okay, what the hell is your problem with me? You know, I thought we had like, an understanding or something. I wanna help Scott, you wanna help Scott, Scott tends to try and rip your intestines out. I’m a good go-between. So what’s with the silent treatment? Am I not good enough or something because I’m not part of the werewolf team?”

“No.”

“What?”

Then Derek was in his face again. The lack of personal space with this guy was astonishing. “I’m just trying to figure out if you’re as stupid as you act.”

“Okay, well fuck you too. I’m trying to help.”

“No! You’re human. It’s not about being good enough, it’s about being stupid enough. What the hell were you thinking driving my car? If the Argents had run you off the road, you’d be dead. If one of their bullets went through the window, you’d be dead. If Scott hadn’t been more pissed off at Allison than you on the full moon, you’d be dead. What if Argent saw you and thinks you’re the other werewolf? You shouldn’t be involved in any of this! Are you _trying_ to get yourself killed?”

That was just rich, coming from a guy who felt no remorse over throwing himself in harm’s way for Scott. If Derek could do it, why not Stiles? All Stiles had done was try to help, but Derek was still only willing to trust Scott, even when Scott was the one that threatened to tell the Argents about Derek from the get-go.

“No, I’m trying to help my best friend, and you’re making it impossible because you refuse to trust me! Besides, can you pick a reason to hate me already? Either I’m going to expose you to my dad or the Argents, or I’m too weak and stupid to exist. Which is it? Trick question, it’s neither, jackass. If I wanted to turn you in I could’ve done it like a hundred times by now. But I _never would_. Are you forgetting who saved your life after you refused to come get help from me until it was nearly too late? I almost cut your arm off, which is kind of a big deal in my book, and then you blew me off without so much as a ‘thank you’ to go share your precious secrets with Scott. Getting secondhand information from someone who fucking hates you means my intel is kinda screwed up. Speaking of, did it ever occur to you that I could make Scott stop being such a dickbag if I were with him during one of your little heart to hearts? It’s like you’re _enjoying_ getting treated like shit.”

Rather than the returned shouting Stiles was expecting, Derek gave him space again and for the first time since he was sick, Stiles watched him battle for control. His hands clenched and unclenched, while his eyes flickered a pure blue. “Thank you,” he gritted.

Stiles ducked away from the door to prevent any more cornering and dropped into his chair. “What? No, dude, of course you’re welcome, but that’s not the point. I just want to help, okay? So can you _please_ just trust me once in a while? Might do you some good.”

They’d reached the end of Derek answering willingly, so Stiles tried again. “If you don’t want me involved, what are you even doing here? Scott’s mom is a nurse, my dad is the sheriff. One of these places is more deadly than the other.”

“Scott’s mother cleans his room and carries mace. Your dad never comes in here.”

“What? How do you…oh. Right. Have you been here all day?” Now that he looked around, some of his books had been moved, and his laptop was open when he came in. He really needed to put a password on that. If Derek saw something that didn’t get deleted properly, it was his own fault.

The lack of an answer was itself an answer, as Stiles was coming to realize about Derek. At least they were done with the shoving thing. It didn’t hurt: Derek clearly still had that whole ‘no hurting humans’ rule, but Stiles wanted to keep the last shred of his dignity intact. “Whatever, you do you. Just let me know next time.”

Derek, predictably, changed the subject. “Scott didn’t get the necklace?”

Of course he knew that, because as much as Derek might pretend Stiles was out to get him, he also knew Stiles would’ve let him know once they had it. Hypocrite. “No, he’s still working on it. But, there’s something else we can try.”

Derek gestured for him to go on, and Stiles took that to mean his interest was piqued at Stiles’ genius. “The night we were trapped at the school, Scott sent a text to Allison asking her to meet him there.”

“So?”

“So, it wasn’t Scott.”

“Well, can you find out who sent it?”

Stiles wished. “No, not me, but I think I know somebody who can.”

He turned around and returned to his computer, opening up new tabs for him to bounce between. After a few seconds, Derek smacked him upside the head. “Who?”

“Oh, his name’s Danny. He’s coming over in like half an hour.” Suddenly Stiles’ realized the opportunity that loomed in front of him. “Oh my god, you can fact check for me while we wait!”

Derek squinted. “You told someone to come here?” His eyes shifted toward the window like he was going to make a run for it.

“Well, it’s not like I knew you were going to be lurking in my bedroom when I asked him if he wanted to study.” Stiles sighed at Derek’s tense figure. “Dude, he’s not going to recognize you, or sell you out or anything. Danny’s like, the most normal guy I’ve ever met. Now, work with me here, is werewolfism something you can get from a magic ritual? Like, drink a puddle or chant at the moon and poof, wolfy powers?”

Scowling, Derek took one last glance at the window before he slowly backed up to a chair in the corner between Stiles’ bed and his dresser. “It’s lycanthropy, and no.”

Stiles snorted. “Dude, I know, but werewolfism, wolfdom, it’s so much more fun than all the technical terms. Is raw meat a major part of werewolf diets?”

“Stop calling me dude, and _no_.”

“So the likelihood of Scott eating hapless woodland creatures raw on a full moon is less than, say, twenty percent?”

“What? No, it’s nothing. We don’t eat wild animals, Stiles! Only an Omega would ever get that desperate.”

It was a nice little workaround Stiles had been hoping to try out since their time in the Jeep when Derek was hurt. Since Derek was so damn difficult about answering any of Stiles’ questions, he wanted to try loosening his iron jaw by letting Derek get out some steam. Any and all versions of “You’re annoying and I hate you,” were old news for Stiles by now, so he was willing to be a bit of a sounding board for Derek’s obvious frustration.

For every question he asked, Stiles poked at something light, added a nickname or a joke. Then, when Derek snapped back at him, he let slip an answer to the question. Two minutes in, Stiles snatched up a spiral memo pad to take notes, and ten minutes after that Derek had settled and actually managed to give more than one word responses.

“So are werewolf genes dominant? Like can a human and a werewolf, or even two werewolves have a human kid? Does that change if you’re bitten?” Stiles chewed on his lip, scowling down at the pad in his hand as he tried to get his faulty pen to work again by scribbling in the top corner.

Derek didn’t answer at first, and Stiles peeked up at him. “Most of my pack were wolves. Those that weren’t married in, and Bastian was too young to tell.”

Something sick swirled in Stiles’ gut at the reminder of how many people Derek had lost. He remembered the Hale family being big, cousins and aunts and uncles of Talia Hale all living in that mansion on the Preserve. God, was that what Derek felt like all the time?

Steeling himself, Stiles started small. “What do you mean, ‘too young to tell?’ You can’t—it’s not obvious?”

“Not right away. Our senses are slightly heightened from the start, but we don’t shift properly until puberty.”

“So, can you be born an Alpha? Is that what happened to this one?”

“No!” Derek jerked. “No. The Alpha of a pack gets their power when the old Alpha gives it up, or, in the worst case scenario, when they’re killed.”

It was an answer to a question Stiles hadn’t asked, and he immediately knew he had to ask it anyway. He kept his voice low, not wanting to trigger any alarming reactions whether he was right or not. “Derek, if Scott kills the Alpha…it’s not going to cure him, is it?”

The look on Derek’s face was identical to the one he’d given Stiles while sitting in the back of the police cruiser. Desperate, and a little scared. “I _told_ him it was just a myth.”

Stiles hated how much he got it. Scott had refused to see reason from the instant he got the bite. He wanted to be cured and he wanted it _now_ , to hell with the people the Alpha had killed. It was scary, how single minded he was about it. But that didn’t mean Stiles could _lie_ to his best friend. He felt bad enough about not giving Scott all the details over what he’d planned to try with the text.

“Look, Derek,” he started, already earning an eyeroll, “we have to tell Scott.”

“Do you honestly think he’ll agree to help me if I tell him there’s no chance for him?”

The notepad dropped from Stiles’ fingers, but he let it hit the ground, pointing at Derek with his pen vehemently. “I will _make_ him help, I swear to god, but we have to tell him.”

When Derek jumped to his feet and growled at him, Stiles ignored the last shiver of fear down his spine. He was _not_ going to be scared by a guy that’d been hiding in his bedroom for the last however many hours. “Derek. This is another one of those trust things. You gotta trust me, and I gotta trust Scott, and until Scott gets his head out of his ass and trusts you, I’ll do it for him. For example. I’m _trusting_ you by telling you that Jackson’s figured out Scott’s a werewolf.”

The growling grew louder, and Derek took a step forward, but Stiles crossed his arms. “Fuck no. Don’t threaten me. You can’t go beat Jackson’s head in either, not when we have other crap to deal with. Besides, the only way Jackson’s gonna shut up is if he’s too scared to talk. And that’s pretty damn hard to do.”

He almost thought Derek was going to give him a real, reasonable response, or possibly run out of the room, but at the last second Derek went tense and honest-to-god tilted his head. “Someone’s at the door.”

Stiles bounced up out of his seat to go look out at the road and recognized the blue Volkswagen Beetle parked out front.

“Shit, he’s early. Just, uh, just read a book or something, and take off your jacket so you don’t look like you’re going to eat somebody. Honestly, dude, I know it’s probably just a part of your whole werewolf mystique thing, but that much leather is gonna give someone the wrong idea about _something_.”

Not waiting for an answer, Stiles ran his hands over his buzzed hair and tried to make his shirt look a little less wrinkled on his way down the stairs. Lydia was his once and forever, but it never hurt to keep his options open and Danny had never actually responded about whether he thought Stiles was attractive.

Danny was more resistant than Stiles had hoped.

“You want me to do what?”

“Trace a text.”

“I came here to do lab work. That’s what lab partners do.” Danny hadn’t even taken his backpack off yet, and he shifted from foot to foot, ready to bolt.

Stiles groaned, “And we will, once you trace the text.

“And what makes you think I know how?”

Being the hyperactive, overcurious, child of the sheriff led to Stiles having his own computer skills. “I…I looked up your arrest report, so…”

Danny balked. “I—I was thirteen. They dropped the charges.”

“Whatever.” What Danny did with his own time, Stiles didn’t care.

“No, we’re doing labwork.” What was with all the no’s today? Was it just ‘Annoy and Disappoint Stiles Day,’ like every other day lately?

There was an ache in his jaw as Stiles tried to keep from shouting. What part of “important” did Danny not get? If Derek wouldn’t tear his throat out for exposing werewolves to Danny, Stiles might actually go on another rant. Instead, he clenched a fist and glared down at his lab worksheet.

Finally, Danny dropped his bag and sat down in the spare chair. He leaned in close for a second, and glanced behind him. “Who’s he again?”

Somehow with dragging Danny into his room and making his proposal, Stiles had almost completely forgotten Derek was even there. He hadn’t made any noise since throwing his jacket on the bed and snatching up a book to read in the corner. Stiles glanced back at him to see the book he’d picked out to seem less conspicuous was a goddamn dictionary. When was the last time Derek had been forced to interact with real people? “Um, my cousin…” Stiles fought for a name. “Miguel.”

It was possibly the worst choice, but Danny seemed a lot more focused on Derek’s clothing than his fake name. “Is that blood on his shirt?”

Shit. Stiles swung around. What kind of person was he becoming that he hadn’t even noticed? Sure enough, there were spots of blood all over Derek’s abdomen. Whether he’d gotten shot the other night and Stiles had missed it or it was splatter from some other injury, Stiles didn’t know, but he was a strange combination of guilty and annoyed that he hadn’t made Derek change. He’d been stuck in bloody clothes the whole night.

“Yeah. Yes. Well, he gets these horrible nosebleeds. Hey, Miguel,” Stiles couldn’t bring himself to look at Derek as he used the fake name until he said, “I thought I told you you could borrow one of my shirts.”

Still mute, Derek maintained eye contact with Stiles as he shut the dictionary and tossed it on the bed. Stiles was pretty sure he was going to regret this entire thing, but it was too late to back down. Quickly, he turned to Danny. “So, anyway, I mean we both know you have the skills to trace that text. So we should probably—”

“Uh, Stiles?” Derek said, holding up one of Stiles’ old striped t-shirts.

“Yes?”

“This…no fit.” Stiles couldn’t tell if he was being made fun of, or if Derek was just that bad at acting like he couldn’t speak English.

“Then try something else on.” Stiles went to apologize to Danny for pretty much Derek’s entire being, but found Danny’s eyes glued to Derek. Shirtless Derek. This was gonna be so much easier than Stiles’d thought.

As Derek pulled a hideous orange and blue shirt over his head, Stiles grinned wide. “Hey, that one looks pretty good. Huh? What do you think, Danny?”

Danny was avoiding everyone’s gaze. “Huh?”

“The shirt.”

Across the room, Derek was staring into space rather than at either of them. His hair was fluffed out of its usual quiff from pulling clothes off and on, and he carried the distinct air of a pissed off puppy. Stiles wished he could take a picture. Even if he died, he could at least die laughing.

Ever so slowly, Danny dragged his eyes over to Derek and scanned him. “It’s—” he gulped, “it’s not really his color.”

This time, Stiles heard a stitch or twenty pop as Derek removed the shirt, but he didn’t turn around again. Leaning in close, like Danny had, Stiles whispered, “You play for a different team, but you still play ball, don’t you, Danny boy?”

“You’re a horrible person.”

“I know, it keeps me awake at night. Anyway, about that text…”

“Stiles!” Derek barked. “None of these fit!”

He was still standing next to the dresser, a pile of shirts on the floor around him, another hanging from his hand, but none on his actual body. Stiles had the wonderful ability to appreciate beauty in every form, but he took care to keep his gaze on Danny. He, for one, knew how good a werewolf’s sense of smell was.

It took less than a second for Danny to break. “I’ll need the ISP, the phone number, and the exact time of the text.”

By the time Danny had the address, Stiles had finally given up on torturing Derek and pulled one of his actual shirts out of the drawer so he could stop throwing Stiles’ old clothes on the ground. Derek had also given up on “reading” and loomed behind both of their backs to see the computer screen, leaning forward when Danny announced, “There. The text was sent from a computer. This one.”

“Registered to that account name?” Derek asked, all pretense of not speaking English gone.

“No, no, no, no, that can’t be right.” Stiles breathed. He looked up at Derek. “You would know if it was her, wouldn’t you?”

While Danny didn’t seem to mind the proximity to Derek, he frowned at Stiles. “Know what?”

Stiles jumped up and started grabbing for his things. “Uh, look, Danny, buddy. I really, definitely wanna work on that lab stuff with you, but I can’t tonight. Raincheck? Better yet, why don’t I just do it, and you can just sign your name, and don’t even worry about it. You just gotta go right now, okay?”

“What? Stiles, this is due on Monday, and the game is in an hour and a half. What did you just make me look up?” Danny accused.

While Stiles yanked on his jacket and searched for his keys, Derek put a hand on the back of Danny’s chair and swiveled it toward the door. “You need to go.”

God bless the wonders of an attractive yet terrifying werewolf, Danny snatched up his bag and left without question. Was mind control a possibility for werewolves?

There were jitters building up in Stiles’ body, and he bounced on his toes while waiting for Derek put on his own jacket, then narrowly stopped his own hand from grabbing Derek’s arm to drag him out of the house. They needed to get to the hospital. The computer wasn’t from the ER, it was at the long-term care facility on the opposite side of the lot. Ms. McCall only worked there once in a while when she was picking up an extra shift.

Stiles jumped in the car and didn’t wait longer than it took for Derek to close the passenger door before he was off. “It isn’t her. You would’ve known, right? You’ve been in Scott’s place.”

“I don’t know, I wasn’t checking.”

“But then why did you think it was Deaton? I mean, he clearly isn’t the Alpha. What made you think it was him?”

Derek rubbed at his forehead for a moment before answering, “Because he was lying to me. And he smelled like…like something weird. I thought he was covering up his scent.”

“Okay, but Ms. McCall doesn’t smell weird, does she?”

“No, I don’t know.” Derek suddenly pressed one of his palms to his forehead. “Stiles, calm the hell down. Your heartrate is ridiculous.”

Stiles didn’t even flinch and pressed harder on the gas. “Fuck you.”

But Derek snarled at him. “I’m serious, knock it off. You’re gonna crash the car.”

“How the hell am I supposed to knock off having a heartbeat, genius?”

“Think about something else!”

For a while, Stiles only drove faster and scowled at the road. What else was he supposed to think about? Ms. McCall might be a freaking werewolf, and even better, an Alpha that’s been killing people for months. Derek didn’t get to tell him to calm down or think about other things. He was barely older than Stiles! Derek didn’t even say fuck, what kind of right should he have to tell Stiles what to do?

That was the snag Stiles’ brain got caught on, and he could feel the tension in the car decrease just before he asked, “Why don’t you say ‘fuck?’”

Derek stared at him. “What?”

“Why don’t you say fuck? You’re like, what, twenty-four? It’s weird to hear a twenty-four year old say ‘friggin.’ What’s the deal?”

Groaning, Derek looked up at the roof of the Jeep. “I’m twenty-two. Pick something else.”

“Okay, did you graduate from college? For that matter, did you graduate from high school?”

“Stiles, what the hell is wrong with you? Pick something else.”

“See, there you go again. Just say ‘fuck,’ just once. It’ll free your mind, I swear. Did you know it’s proven that swearing while you’re in pain or upset helps you vent your emotions and cope better than _not_ swearing? It could be like thera—”

“ _Stiles._ ” Derek was rubbing his head again. “Shut up.”

They hit a red light, and Stiles almost missed it because of the setting sun in his eyes. At the last second he slammed on the brake, and faced Derek’s glower head on. “What? You’re the one who told me to think about something else. If I even contemplate anything outside this goddamn Jeep, I might actually explode. So, answer my questions. Or just one of them. Anything.”

The light turned green again before Derek answered, “Yes. I graduated college.”

“What for?”

“No.”

“Fine.”

The hardest part was the waiting. In order to check the cameras, they needed access to the computers, which no sane nurse would give them. It was Derek’s idea to wait until the LTC building closed and then ask his uncle’s overnight nurse to let them in, but that meant hiding in the parking lot with their seats leaned back as far they could go and just…sitting.

Derek didn’t talk at all, only growling when Stiles tried to make conversation, so eventually, Stiles actually fell asleep, brain turning to static when he couldn’t voice any of his worries.

He woke up to a slap on his arm and an unopened message on his phone. It was a picture of the necklace, and moments after he’d showed it to Derek, Scott called. Only when the sound of other players on the team came through the mic did Stiles realize that the pregame stuff was starting soon. Stiles was supposed to be there by now.

He stayed in the Jeep as he talked to Scott, not bothering to put the phone on speaker for Derek. It wouldn’t make a difference anyway.

 _“Did you get the picture?”_ Scott asked.

“Yeah, I did, and it looks just like the drawing.”

Derek grabbed at Stiles’ hand and pulled it awkwardly to the side to talk into the phone, even though Scott could’ve heard him without it. “Hey, is there something on the back of it? There’s gotta be something. An inscription, an opening, something.” He completely ignored Stiles’ gasp of alarm at the uncomfortable twist of his wrist.

_“No, no, the thing’s flat, and no, it doesn’t open. There’s nothing in it, on it, around it, nothing. And where are you? You’re supposed to be here, you’re first line.”_

As soon as the conversation switched away from the necklace, Derek dropped Stiles’ hand like it burned and pulled out the piece of paper to stare at again.

_“Man, you’re not gonna play if you’re not here to start.”_

Stiles shook a hand into the air. “I know! Look, if you see my dad, can you tell him—tell him I’ll be there, I’ll just be a little bit late, okay?”

_“Yeah, just hurry up.”_

Stiles clicked off his phone and shoved it down into his pocket, ignoring Derek’s confused face. This was supposed to be his big chance to impress Coach, and Lydia, and his dad. Hell, even Scott. But Derek’s uncle was in that hospital, the only family he had left. What if the Alpha was taunting them? Threatening Peter to make Derek back off? Stiles wasn’t about to blow this off for a game.

“You’re not gonna make it.”

“I know.”

“And you didn’t tell him about his mom, either.”

Stiles pulled the keys out of the ignition. “Not until we find out the truth.”

Now that they were here, Stiles didn’t feel so good about going inside. If he was right, Scott’s mom was a bloodthirsty Alpha. If he was wrong, they still didn’t know who the bloodthirsty Alpha was.

The crickets outside the car were loud, and it didn’t help Stiles’ nerves settle at all.

“By the way, one more thing,” Derek said, as relaxed as he ever got.

“Yeah?”

In a burst of movement, Stiles’ head was shoved down onto his steering wheel, bashing his forehead into the barely padded metal. He cried out as he came back up, covering his brow and the slope of his nose. “Oh, god! What the hell was—”

“You _know_ what that was for. Go.” Stiles hesitated a little, considering the pros and cons of trying to punch Derek in the face. “Go!”

Stiles got out of the car.

He got about halfway across the green fuming, before he realized that in all actuality, he totally deserved that. Putting Derek’s body on display to make Danny do him a favor was one of Stiles’ less brilliant and more mean ideas. “Yup,” he muttered, rubbing at his stinging face. “I earned that one.”

A moment later, he got a text.

**Sourwolf: Yes. You did.**

Without looking back, Stiles flipped off the Jeep.

It was supposed to be easy. The nurse watching Derek’s uncle was apparently enough of a pushover that she would let Stiles use her computer, and then he’d pull up the videos from the night of the text and see who was on duty and they could get some kind of visual proof whether or not it was Ms. McCall. Only, the nurse wasn’t there.

Stiles pulled up Derek’s contact as he wandered the abandoned halls. Where the hell was everybody? “Hey, there’s like nobody here.”

_“What?”_

“Yeah, I said I can’t find her.” Stiles knew that Beacon Hills was pretty small, but surely there was more than just Derek’s uncle checked into long term care. Where were the patients? There wasn’t even another overnight nurse at the front desk when he walked in.

_“Look, ask for Jennifer.”_

Stiles headed toward the room Derek gave him, muttering, “Dude, I would if I could, but there’s no one to ask. He’s not here either.”

 _“What?”_ Derek balked.

“He’s not here, he’s gone, Derek.” Stiles supposed it was possible that they’d moved him to another ward, maybe to protect Peter from Derek?

He checked around the bare room one more time before backing up into the hall. If nothing else, maybe one of the computers had a password taped up to it or something so he could get into the program.

Derek’s voice burst into urgency. _“Stiles, get out of there right now. It’s him, he’s the Alpha! Get out!”_

Slowly, Stiles pulled the phone away from his ear and looked toward the darkened end of the hall, just past Peter’s room. Like every shadowy monster reveal on the big screen, a man stood watching him from the corner in a long black leather coat. The features on the right side of Peter’s face were distorted by angry, pink, rippling scars, and most of his right ear was missing. If Stiles’ synapses were actually firing, he’d notice a family resemblance in the sharp jaw and piercing gaze.

“You must be Stiles,” Peter greeted.

As it was, Stiles just turned to run—and almost crashed into the first nurse he’d seen all night. Her face was the picture of customer service as she asked, “What are you doing here? Visiting hours are over.”

Her name tag said _Jennifer_ , and Stiles couldn’t quite breathe. He lifted a hand to point at her, then at Peter. “You…and him…” His sentences weren’t making it all the way out of his mouth. “You’re the one who—” _sent the text,_ “Oh my…and he’s the—” _Alpha that bit Scott and killed all those people._ “Oh my god, I’m gonna die.”

He wasn’t sure where to look. Which one of them was going to come at him first?

The crack of bone made Stiles jump, and he looked at Jennifer again in time to watch her fall to the ground unconscious, blood dripping out of her nose. Derek.

“That’s not nice,” Peter said, voice almost a whisper. “She’s my nurse.”

For all that Stiles had been cracking jokes about Scott and Derek sounding like serial killers, it was so much different to actually be hearing a real serial killer talk. He wasn’t one of those “I never would have imagined it” types of killers. No, Peter embraced the stereotype of cold blooded psychopath down to his dress sense. Stiles definitely preferred the youngest in the family: he might threaten to murder you, but Peter actually would.

Now, Stiles stood between the two remaining Hales, and it didn’t feel like a safe place to be.

Derek didn’t seem to want to argue semantics. “She’s a crazy bitch helping you kill people.” He barely glanced at Stiles as he ordered, “Get out of the way.”

“Oh damn.” There was going to be a showdown. Stiles didn’t bother with dignity this time and dropped straight to the floor to crawl away. Stay low, stay alive, just like in a fire.

Peter stepped forward, face blank but eyes charged with danger. “You think I killed Laura on purpose? One of my own family?”

From his place on the cool linoleum tiles, leaning against the opposite side of the hallway, Stiles watched Derek’s eyes flash and saw his fangs for the first time. Maybe it was a result of being born, not bitten, but Derek’s fangs grew much more naturally than Scott’s had. He roared and rolled his whole body into the shift, before shifting out of it just as quickly. Derek jumped high and to the side, using the wall next to Stiles’ head to kick off into Peter with his claws out. Instead, Peter grabbed Derek’s lapels and used Derek’s own momentum to slam him into the thin plaster of the wall, leaving a giant hole behind his shoulders and back.

Clearly Stiles hadn’t gone far enough, as he was almost kicked in the face when Peter spun Derek around and threw him into the other wall as well, knocking the plastic railing out of the plaster and onto the floor. It wasn’t a good sign when Derek hit the ground and didn’t immediately jump up again. This was Stiles’ first time seeing Derek fight someone and _lose_. While the initial cloud of white powder from the obliterated wall made Stiles instinctively scramble backwards, the moment he could see he reached for Derek’s jacket. Maybe he could drag him away until Derek got his breath back, or Peter gave up.

Before he could get close enough, Derek swiped out an arm in his direction, waving wildly even as he snarled to keep Peter’s attention. Not wanting to distract Derek even more, Stiles crawled away down the hall, ears straining for the sounds of Peter coming after him, or Derek being hurt. Stiles went for Peter’s room, hoping to hide inside or escape through the window, but he jerked in shock at nearly tripping onto the crumpled body of the nurse.

She was still out cold, a slow line of blood oozing its way from her nose down her cheek and onto the floor. In too much of a hurry to mind that he was kneeling on her hair, Stiles moved around her and crouched behind the front desk. He scanned the area, keeping his head low, but hospitals weren’t exactly jam packed with weapons useful against a vicious werewolf.

There was the slight squeak of something dragging on the floor, and Stiles heard Peter speak again, voice still just above a whisper. “My mind, my personality, were _literally_ burned out of me. I was being driven by pure instinct.”

Stiles had to fight his own instincts to keep from peeking over the counter as he heard Derek pant, “You want forgiveness?”

This time something made contact. Leather squeaked and the pop of something snapping sounded loud in the hall.

“I want understanding.”

Stiles jumped slightly at the thud of a body on the floor, hoping it might have been Peter but _knowing_ it wasn’t. Peter was still talking, still eerily relaxed.

“Do you have _any idea_ ,” he asked, “what it was like for me during those years? Slowly healing, cell by cell.”

What exactly was Stiles supposed to do? He had no weapons, no advantage at all, but he couldn’t just _leave_. Listening to Peter for any sign of him coming closer, Stiles stuck his head past the tiny walkway and saw Derek lying on his stomach on the linoleum, a spatter of blood on the floor beneath his mouth, and more covering his face. A broken nose, and something about the way his left ankle was twisted didn’t look right. Derek pushed himself up slowly to his knees, his eyes flashing blue again, and Stiles dove under the overhang of the desk.

He couldn’t have any effect on the outcome of this fight, so maybe it was better for him to just wait it out. That was, unless Peter decided he might as well kill his nephew as well as his niece, and then finish off Stiles for tidiness’ sake.

Huddled and cramped, Stiles realized that the worst thing about his situation was the silence. In movies there was always an exciting song playing in the background of battles, and extra loud sound effects were added to make every hit more impressive. Without a soundtrack, Stiles wasn’t excited by the violence, he was terrified. Nothing else was happening in the hospital, so all there was to listen to other than whatever the hell Peter was talking about and his own pounding heartbeat was Derek’s panting and the dull thud of fabric on fabric, then skin to skin. When Stiles heard a rapid crunching noise, he nearly puked. Werewolves didn’t need sound effects because they were _actually_ breaking bones and popping things out of place.

Nothing he’d read had suggested werewolves felt any less pain than humans.

The shattering of glass over his head was followed by Derek’s body landing in front of him. Werewolf healing could only work so fast, and Derek was turning a lot of bad colors. One of his hands was completely purple and blue, and his face when he lifted his head was tinged green. Rather than get up again, he began to army crawl away from Stiles, only using one of his legs to propel himself forward through the crunching, probably slivering glass.

Derek paid him no mind, and when Peter followed after him into a surgery room, walking right past Stiles’ hiding place, he didn’t look at Stiles either.

The idea of leaving now that he was out of immediate danger was tempting, but Stiles couldn’t make himself go. What if Peter left Derek to die, and Stiles could’ve done something? He couldn’t call Scott either, since he was in the middle of a game by now. So, Stiles just waited, breathing as slowly as he could and straining his ears for anything from the back room.

Finally, after what felt like ages of Stiles trying to come down from his adrenaline high and failing, the two Hales reappeared. Stiles couldn’t help peeking up over the counter, hoping Peter was restrained or possibly just dead. He’d never really wanted someone dead before, but after everything Peter had done, Stiles could imagine starting a new list with him at the top.

There was no denying that they both knew Stiles was there. Peter was walking in front of Derek’s limping form, and he came to a halt across from Stiles’ hiding place.

“Loyal, isn’t he?” Peter’s eyes caught him, something in them appraising him like an item at auction. His face was miraculously fixed, ear whole and skin smooth, like nothing had ever happened. Stiles could feel the flick of Peter’s eyes down his face just once, but not missing a thing. It made his skin crawl. “But to whom? Anyway, it’s too bad. Stiles, come here.”

And Stiles nearly did. He swore there was something in Peter’s eyes that he needed to get closer to in order to understand. Rising from his crouched position, Stiles took a full step over to the walking gap in the counter before stopping. He wasn’t…he didn’t want to go _near_ Peter. “No.”

Surprising Peter didn’t feel like a victory, it felt like poking him with a stick. “Tenacity. Definitely too bad. They’re always more fun when they have minds of their own.”

Since Stiles wasn’t going to come to him, Peter moved forward himself. Stiles tried not to back up. Weren’t you not supposed to run from wild animals? His body was working against him though, and he couldn’t help shifting from one foot to the other, only to slip on a piece of glass. He landed in a heap on his ass, watching Peter’s form reach the counter.

“Derek? What’d he do to you? Come on, dude, I don’t wanna be Alpha chow!”

Derek hadn’t moved, hadn’t twitched. He wasn’t even facing their direction, just staring down the hall toward the exit with his fists clenched tight at his sides, despite bones Stiles was sure were still broken.

He was on his own. “ _Fuck._ ”

At the last second, as Peter crouched down in front of Stiles with bright red eyes, Derek spoke.

“We had a deal.”

For a moment, Peter looked _normal_. His eyes widened in surprise, and he pushed up on his knees to stand. “ _Oh_ , well in _that_ case.”

Just like that they started walking away, Peter in the lead. After everything. Derek getting shot, and Scott losing his girlfriend, and all those people dying. And Derek was just going to let him walk away?

“What the fuck, Derek? What happened to stopping him?” Stiles scrambled to his feet. “What happened to saving people? What about your sister?”

They were almost out the door, but Stiles could hear Derek’s last words, carried to him on a growl. “He’s family.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I don't ship Steter in the least, I do find his and Peter's interactions fascinating. Their characters are so similar in some ways, it's like watching them argue with themselves. It's cool.  
> Also, I know that the sterek fandom just froths at the mouth for that scene in Stiles' bedroom, and I'm sorry I sorta took part of that away from you, but I have a different vision, and having Stiles threaten to get Derek shot/arrested was _not_ part of it. So we went a bit of a different route, and I hope I made up for it with the extra conversations. God, I fucking love writing about their lore and expanding on Derek's past.  
> Anyway, I have a special surprise for you all in the next chapter, so I hope you stay tuned.


	10. Episode 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember that surprise I promised? Well, I told you all to keep an eye on the tags.
> 
> Hey, speaking of tags, please note the changes here. I know I already have the "Canon-Typical Violence" tag, but I felt like I needed something more considering I'm not using fancy flashing lights and flashbacks to deter from the actual fucking Torture happening. (Sorry if that spoils for anyone, but like, you've seen the show? You knew it was coming eventually) I also wanna warn about the Kate stuff going on in this episode and the next couple. This is seriously traumatic stuff, and I don't wanna upset anybody. Please read with discretion.
> 
> Also, this chapter is crazy long, and I refuse to apologize. This is a bit closer to what chapters will look like in later seasons. Hopefully it helps tide you over during the week though. <3

For all the guilt, frustration, and fear that had Derek’s heart clamped tight, there were a good ten minutes of running through the alleys of Beacon Hills where he was able to ignore it and just enjoy a sensation he’d been missing for months. He hadn’t run with family since before Laura left to come to this godforsaken town. It wasn’t quite right; just standing next to Peter made Derek shiver with the undercurrent of _danger_. But they were still technically pack, passed down now through three Alphas. The bond between them had been strained to its absolute limits when Derek went with Laura to New York, but now that he was back it was growing again. It was so much better than being alone.

They were halfway to the school, with Peter in the lead after Derek told him where Scott could be found, when Derek’s phone began to buzz.

“Have you made friends here already, nephew?” Peter joked over his shoulder. He had always had a decent, if somewhat twisted, sense of humor. “Borrowing clothes from them as well, I smell.”

Derek didn’t dare respond. The only person who had his phone number was Stiles. It was bad enough he hadn’t run while Derek was trying to keep his uncle busy.

The deal that Derek had eked out with Peter was tenuous at best. He would stop going after civilians, stop threatening people who had nothing to do with the fire, and that included Stiles. But the only way he was going to survive now that he’d caught Peter’s eye by denying him was if he didn’t make himself look like a threat. Trying to get ahold of Derek mere minutes after he’d nearly been ripped apart was not a good start.

The buzzing came on and off throughout their trip, and when they finally stopped outside the school, waiting in the shadows for the spectators and players to leave, Peter spoke again. “For god’s sake, Derek. Just answer the boy.”

When Derek snapped his head over to look at his uncle, Peter was just watching him. “It’s good to see I managed to teach you _something_.”

Rather than respond to _that_ , Derek pulled his phone out.

**Bruce W.: U wanna tell me what the hell that was back there?**

**Bruce W.: Did Peter do something 2 u?**

**Bruce W.: Do I have to remind u that he’s murdered like 6 ppl? 1 of which was ur sister?**

**Bruce W.: The crazy bitch woke up and ran off. Have fun w that.**

**Bruce W.: If u touch Scott, I’ll kill u AND Peter. I don’t kno how, but I’ll figure it out.**

It was almost laughable, reading Stiles’ threats over text with the ridiculous contact name he’d given himself, but Derek had seen first hand how much Stiles was able to find out even without someone to help him discern the truth from myth. It might take him a few tries, but Derek wouldn’t actually be all that surprised if Stiles got ahold of some wolfsbane or mistletoe and went after them.

It was Peter’s idea to cut the lights and slip into the locker room while Scott wasn’t looking. The presentation was slightly beyond Derek, but he let it go and took his own place, rubbing carefully at his slowly healing hand. It was still weird being here, where he’d changed for basketball practice in high school. The stink of teenage sweat and hormones was surprisingly easy to get over, his senses tuning it out in favor of listening to Scott’s heart rate rise at the loss of light, and the tiny click of the switch on the wall.

They didn’t want Scott too close to the exit. Him running would just prolong the issue. To lure Scott further into the room, Peter snickered at Derek before rolling a ball down the shower hall and letting it bounce against a locker.

Derek knew his job as a front man. Scott might not like him, but he was less likely to attack right off the bat if he saw Derek before Peter. He slightly regretted the timing when Scott walked into view wearing nothing but a towel around his waist.

“Oh, thank god! Where the hell have you been? Do you have any idea what’s been going on?” Scott huffed, charging toward Derek like he really would just attack on sight.

No mention of Stiles, Derek noted, even though he knew Derek was the last one to see Stiles before he missed the game. God, this kid was more self-absorbed than anyone Derek had ever met. The last time they’d spoken alone, Scott had practically teased him, admitting that he couldn’t be a werewolf, that he couldn’t handle it, and then he’d ended the sentence like the stupid sixteen year old he was. _“And be with Allison.”_ As if his violence toward Stiles wasn’t a precursor to attacking his own mother. As if how easily he was swayed by Peter didn’t matter. As if the fact that Allison was an Argent was only important because Scott didn’t want to _offend_ them by being a werewolf. He was so blinded by what he thought was love, he was going to get people killed. 

It was a nice surprise to have someone cut Scott off, distract him before things went any further south. Peter stepped out from his hiding spot, holding a lacrosse stick in both hands. “I really don’t get lacrosse.”

Peter never did like getting straight to the point. He’d told Derek when he was younger that he just preferred taking the scenic route. Derek’s mother had called it rambling.

As Scott worked it out, his heart ratcheted up a few notches and he whispered, “It was you.”

“When I was in high school we played basketball. There’s a real sport.” Peter made eye contact with Derek, and Derek knew what he meant. He was trying to reconnect, bring up their shared love of the game. It might have worked better if Derek was still sixteen.

Unfortunately, their failed moment just brought Scott’s attention to Derek again: he looked back and forth between them while Peter continued his little history lesson.

“Still, I read somewhere that lacrosse comes from Native American tribes and that they played it to resolve conflict.” He swung the crosse up to his shoulder, still lost in thought. “Do I have that right? Well…” Finally, Peter looked at Scott again and put the stick down, leaning it against a half wall. “I have a little conflict of my own to resolve, Scott. But, I need your help to do it.”

Scott’s response was instantaneous. “I’m not helping you kill people.”

Peter ticked his head to the side. “Well, I don’t want to kill all of them. Just the responsible ones.”

Who exactly Peter deemed responsible was shaky at best. He’d been just as vehemenant about the guilt of the hapless janitor that’d walked in on his intimidation of Scott as he had about the bus driver that’d refused to look into the fire and claimed it was caused by faulty wiring. Collateral damage meant nothing to Peter, as he made obvious with his thinly veiled threat. “That doesn’t have to include…”

He looked at Derek. They both knew who Scott was _really_ worried about. “Allison,” Derek supplied.

Maybe Derek was wrong in thinking that Scott’d already figured out Derek’s current allegiance. He turned to Derek with genuine puppy dog eyes, and finally Derek understood what Stiles had meant when he called Scott soft-hearted. “You’re on his side?”

It didn’t last long as Scott continued, “Are you forgetting the part where he killed your sister?”

No. Of course Derek hadn’t forgotten. He could _never_ forget it. Finding her in the woods, cut in half the exact way that the most traditional of hunters insisted on dispatching their prey. Trying to give her a proper burial, only for two teenage assholes to go digging her up. They’d taken her away, brought her to a stupid human hospital and disgraced her body. She belonged in the Preserve, in the Earth, with their pack. Scott was the one who made that impossible. Derek hadn’t gotten a chance to retrieve her after being released before Scott accused him of being a mass murderer.

He’d been hiding on the roof of the school, healing slowly where no one would look and listening to Scott pin the blame on him, knowing there was no chance now that his sister wouldn’t be cremated, turned to ash like the rest of his family.

Now Derek was alone, without even a grave to help him mourn his sister. All he had was Peter, an uncle not deranged enough to _not_ understand how wrong his kills were, but too far gone to care. This was all he had left, and if there was a chance that Derek could persuade him to stop, lead him in a different direction, then Derek was all for it. But it all hinged on Scott. They needed a bigger pack, and if he kept refusing, Peter was going to stop caring how innocent Scott was.

“It was a mistake,” Derek muttered. It was. Peter’s heart had beat steady as a metronome while he promised that killing Laura had been an accident. That he barely remembered getting to the Preserve, only to have Laura so close, his new Alpha, that’d abandoned him across the country. He’d been angry and confused, and then she was dead. His heart was steady, so Derek had to believe it was the truth. It was all he could do.

“What?” Scott cried out, index finger still pointing back at Peter after his accusation.

He needed to let this go, not raise any questions. Peter was the epitome of “on edge,” and who knew what would happen if he thought Derek was going to turn against him? Didn’t Scott see that this was the only way to keep Peter sated, for however short a time? “It happens.”

Refocusing Scott on himself, Peter said, “Scott, I think you’re getting the wrong impression of us. We really just want to help you reach your full potential.”

“By killing my friends.” The soft, worried voice was back. How did Scott do that? Jump from raging asshole to a scared kid? He’d certainly never used that tone around Derek before, even though all Derek had done since meeting the idiot on his property was try to keep him alive and stop him from hurting people or exposing them all.

Peter’s next words made Derek’s stomach clench. “Sometimes the people closest to you can be the ones holding you back the most.”

As the last tendons in his fingers tingled back into place, Derek examined the razor sharp focus Peter held on Scott.

It’d been a long time since Derek had seen any bitten wolves join a pack, but the bond between an Alpha and their bitten Betas was supposed to be intense. Wolves already had a faint suggestive magnetism, enough to guide those with dull or cloudy minds, but an Alpha could actually control their Betas to an extent, even forcing a shift to rise or retreat. If he were to accept Peter as an Alpha properly, would Peter force him to shift? It wasn’t as though he knew how much Derek despised it.

His mother had always reminded them that they were predators, they didn’t have to be killers. Yet his Beta shift stopped bringing him any pleasure shortly after he turned fifteen. His blue eyes were a curse, outing him instantly to other wolves, and leaving him a perfect victim for a hunter. Physical proof that he was guilty.

For all that his heart was pounding, Derek had to give Scott credit for keeping his voice calm, unaggressive even, as he said, “If they’re holding me back from becoming a nutjob like you…I’m okay with that.”

That was enough for Peter apparently, and even though Derek knew exactly what was supposed to come next, the sight of Peter stepping forward and extending his claws one at a time made his skin crawl. This was…awful. It was awful of Peter to want anyone to experience what he had. But Derek couldn’t stop him. It was this, or Peter just killed Scott and continued his rampage. At least with their deal, Peter would lay low, cool down, give Derek a chance to _change_ things. Or die trying to kill his last remaining family member.

He wished Laura was there to tell him to stop being so dramatic.

“Maybe you could try and see things…from my perspective.” Faster than Scott could react, Peter drove his claws into the back of Scott’s neck, creating a perfect dashed line down his spine. Peter was the only wolf Derek knew who could transfer memories properly.

Belatedly, Derek recognized the movement. Hadn’t that been what he did to Jackson? So tense, barely in control after being shot, he’d lashed out to make the meathead back off. What if that was what tipped him off? If he’d transferred something on accident…Derek had exposed his family… _again_.

Spasming and panting, Scott dropped to the cement floor in a heap. Derek didn’t want to think about what he was seeing right then. He hesitated when his uncle walked away, leaving Scott to struggle. Should he stay?

No. It was better to go with Peter, make sure he didn’t do anything rash.

On his way out of the school, Derek slipped his phone out of his pocket and typed out a message.

_Scott’s at the school._

It was just common courtesy, so Stiles didn’t come after them.

Contrary to popular belief, and by popular belief he meant the idiotic teenagers Derek had been forced to spend time around, he wasn’t staying in his family’s old home. At least, not all the time. After Laura, he’d holed up there, feeling like he too was burning, in his own way. But he wasn’t _feral_. He’d slept in a hotel until Scott told everyone he was a murderer, and then it’d stopped being safe.

The last week or so Derek had mostly been bouncing between skeevy motels that charged by the hour and smelled so foul he spent most of the night nauseous, but Peter wouldn’t have it. His first order of business once they’d picked up the Camaro was to head into one of the fanciest hotels in the damn city and book a double room under his nurse’s name while Derek parked the nurse’s car a block away and waited. It was first floor access, so Derek was easily able to climb in through the window with his duffel bag after Peter popped the screen out.

The room was nice, but Peter barely looked at it once he’d let Derek in before heading back to the door. “Errands to run,” he explained.

“Peter, we had a deal.” It was his only defense.

This was his uncle Peter, the same man he’d known his entire life, who’d snuck onto school property to hang out with him during lunch and played videogames with him while Lucas and Laura were busy. Who’d taught him control as a teenager. This wasn’t someone he could intimidate. Peter could pull him apart with nothing but sarcasm. It was actually eerily similar to the way Stiles acted around him, and that was something Derek didn’t even want to think about.

Stiles was an enigma of idiocy and brilliance. On the one hand, how stupid did he have to be to fall asleep with Derek in the car? To drive in a car chase with a bunch of _hunters_ , or, and Derek couldn’t help smiling a little at the thought, to pelt Scott with lacrosse balls until he learned to control his temper? On the other, pelting Scott with lacrosse balls had worked, kind of. He’d been able to teach Scott control when Derek couldn’t, and he’d been the one to figure out the whole werewolf situation immediately.

His stupid little howl in the woods was actually what tipped Derek off about their arrival on his property. Ten seconds and he’d gotten it, right off the bat.

In any case, Stiles was just a human, and he was going to get himself killed. Soon, if the look on Peter’s face was any indication. He’d had way too much interest in Stiles in the hospital. Apparently, Stiles had made quite the impression in the five seconds before Derek had arrived. Or, maybe something had happened at the school that Derek had missed because of the holes in his lungs.

Either oblivious to Derek’s specific worries, or alarmingly aware, Peter groaned at him. “I’m not going to do what you think I am.”

Derek squinted at him.

“I’m not going after Stiles. He’s…curious, but you’re right. You and I have a deal. Besides, any human you’re bothering to keep around must be useful.”

Peter had always been scarily good at reading Derek’s mind. It only got more frightening now that he was a murderer and Derek was trying to keep him at bay.

“Where are you going then?” Derek asked, crossing his arms.

Peter just shrugged and swung open the door. “Just picking up some things I need. Feel free to rent a movie. Don’t wait up!”

Then he was gone, leaving Derek alone in the room with no idea how to deal with anything that was happening.

He started with closing the window, leaving the screen discreetly hidden behind an armchair, then dropped onto the bed Peter hadn’t touched. It was so much softer than his usual sleeping places that Derek just laid there for a couple minutes, counting the dots of plaster on the ceiling. Eventually, when his eyes got bored, he pulled out his phone. He’d put it on silent before entering the locker room, and hadn’t gotten any new messages by the time he’d sent Stiles a text of his own.

He had some now.

**Bruce W.: Scott hates u even more now, but he’s also puking into the trash over whatever he saw**

**Bruce W.: He won’t tell me**

**Bruce W.: He says u didn’t hurt him.**

**Bruce W.: Now I’m wondering if ur alive**

**Bruce W.: Answer me**

**Bruce W.: Derek**

**Bruce W.: If u don’t respond, I’m going looking 4 u**

**Bruce W.: DEREK**

The absolute last thing Derek needed right now was Stiles or Scott running around town getting into even more trouble.

_Don’t._

It was good enough, and Derek tossed his phone onto the side table before heading into the bathroom with a set of clean clothes. There was blood on the shirt he’d taken from Stiles, and powdered wall in his hair.

————————————————————— 

Whatever Peter had done to Scott, he couldn’t even begin an explanation without diving for the trashcan. By the time he’d given up, he was shivering violently and as pissed as a wet cat.

“I knew we shouldn’t have trusted Derek! For all we know, he’s been working with Peter the entire time! He’s probably been helping him kill all those people, and we’ve been hiding him from the hunters.”

Stiles couldn’t help arguing. “Uh, no, _we’ve_ been hiding from the hunters. Dude, how many times have we gone over this? You’re a werewolf too, they aren’t going to care if you’re in love with Allison. In fact, it might make them kill you sooner! Derek said they don’t follow the code, they don’t care if you’re innocent.”

A heavy punch to the concrete wall made Stiles jump. Scott was glaring at him. “Don’t you get it?” he shouted. “Nothing Derek said can be trusted! For all we know all the Hales were like this. The whole family was probably a bunch of nutjobs.”

“Scott, I swear to god, if the words ‘they deserved it’ are about to come out of your mouth, I will slap you.”

But Scott started to shake his head vigorously before pausing and turning a weird shade of green under the fluorescent lighting of the locker room. “No,” he whispered, voice trembling. “Nobody deserved that.”

His face contorted for a few seconds, then Scott clambered off the bench toward the trash again, dry heaving.

Kneeling next to him and rubbing his back with one hand, Stiles fired off a few texts to Derek. He hadn’t hurt Scott, except maybe emotionally, so Stiles had to believe he wasn’t entirely out of it. Unless it was all a part of Peter’s plan. He’d thought by now Peter would have given up on Scott joining him, but apparently he was just as stubborn as Derek. Not a great trait for a death machine.

There were tears in Scott’s eyes by the time he recovered, and Stiles put his phone away to help Scott stand. “Get dressed, Scotty,” he soothed. “I’ll take you home.”

“Stay the night tonight?”

Stiles started at that. He and Scott had sleepovers all the time, usually just a result of playing videogames until one of them was too tired to go home, but the last time Scott had asked Stiles to stay over was after he found out about his parents divorce. Whatever Peter had forced Scott to see must’ve been bad, and Stiles was slowly figuring out what it was.

Unable to help himself, Stiles texted Derek again, and then a few more times, just to check if he was alive. For all he knew, if Peter was pissed enough, he might just kill him. He’d gotten close enough in the hospital.

He didn’t get a response until he and Scott were getting ready for bed, but it was abrupt enough and sour enough that Stiles was at least eighty-five percent sure it was Derek and not Peter pretending to be him.

The phone call with his dad was unpleasant, seeing as he was rightfully pissed over Stiles missing the game entirely. He only let up when Stiles mentioned Scott needing him to stay the night, and even then it was more of a postponement of ass-chewing.

—

The next morning brought Scott back to his usual self, if a little more on edge. He was still anchorless, but Stiles was a little scared to mention it. When Scott insisted on running out to find Jackson and see what else he knew, there was no point in trying to deter him, especially since Stiles’ dad conveniently had a morning shift, and wouldn’t be ready to rip Stiles a new one until that afternoon.

They went to Jackson’s house, only to find his car gone, and then they resorted to Stiles’ least favorite, yet most recently used method of locating people. They drove up and down the roads, hoping to run into him, or in Stiles’ case, over him.

Scott was on a mission, keeping the radio off, windows rolled down, and almost sticking his head entirely out into the wind to listen for clues. After almost two hours of tracing through Beacon Hills’ residential district, Stiles headed for the warehouse district. He was getting used to the quiet, turning what few sounds he was allowed into rhythms. Humming a little under his breath and ever so softly patting his fingers on the steering wheel to keep from going completely crazy out of boredom. When Scott finally jumped up and pointed down a road, Stiles couldn’t help the little shriek he let out.

Scott shoved his head even further over the windowsill. “Someone’s doing donuts nearby and playing loud music. Might be him.”

“What exactly are you planning to do to Jackson once we find him?”

His question was ignored, and Scott continued, “Car sounds expensive, take a left.”

Stiles obliged, muttering quietly, “Fine, but if he tries anything stupid, I get to do the beating up.”

“Wait! Stop the car!” Scott shouted.

It was completely unnecessary. They were on an empty street. The only sound Stiles could hear was his Jeep’s unhappy engine. He really needed to get a job or something to pay for some repairs, a tune-up maybe, whatever that was.

At this point it was just ridiculous. Scott had almost climbed out of the car window, nearly sitting on the sill, and was staring hard _through_ a building on their left.

“He’s not alone. His car stopped, and then someone else pulled up. _Shit,_ Stiles, it’s Allison’s dad!” Scott said.

Stiles peered through his own window at the building. “What does Argent want with Jackson? You don’t think he spilled the beans, do you?”

Suddenly, Scott was in the car again. “No, but he’s about to, we gotta get there. Go. Stiles! GO!”

Pushed almost into a frenzy by Scott’s shouts, Stiles peeled out, the tires squealing on the road. At his side, Scott turned the radio on and blasted the volume. He pointed the directions out for Stiles until they saw Jackson’s douchey Porsche and Argent’s family friendly, yet intimidating SUV.

Argent was at Jackson’s car, the back hood popped, and the two were having a staring contest that Jackson was most definitely losing. They were just in time.

Scott took the lead when Stiles jerked to a stop. With one hand he turned the radio off, and then waved. “Yo.”

“Sup?” Stiles supplied.

“Is everything okay?” Scott was suddenly, dangerously calm.

Stiles could imagine that there was probably a lot going on for Scott in this second. Not only was Argent on his tail, but he was also Allison’s dad. Pissing him off would only make it harder to get Allison back. But, Scott was taking it like a goddamn champ, even mentioning a shop that definitely didn’t exist.

When they popped the door open, Jackson hesitated just a little, and Stiles jumped in. “Hey, come on, Jackson. You’re way too pretty to be out here all by yourself.”

If this bozo turned them down, Stiles wasn’t sure how they were gonna keep Argent from grilling him.

Thankfully, he moved toward the car, nodding shortly as Scott hopped out to give him room to crawl in the back. Before Jackson could lose any dignity climbing over seats, Argent shut the hood and called out. “Hey, boys.”

He crossed to the driver’s door and leaned in, and after a moment the car started up with a purr. “Told you I knew a few things about cars.”

There was no force on this planet that could convince Stiles that Argent hadn’t done something to Jackson’s car. It was probably a whole trap to get Jackson alone and torture him for information or something. He shared a look with Scott as Argent drove away and knew they were on the same page.

Since when was Stiles _saving_ Jackson? Normally, Jackson was the one bullying Stiles mercilessly. How was this fair?

As soon as Argent was out of sight, Jackson went off. “What, are you following me now?”

“Yes! You stupid freaking idiot, you almost gave away everything right there!” Scott barked.

Stiles jumped out of the car. Scott couldn’t lose control right now—there was no one to bring him back.

“What are you talking about?” Jackson scoffed. For a guy smart enough to figure out Scott was a werewolf, he wasn’t really getting this.

Scott was shouting now. “He thinks you’re the second Beta!”

That surprised Stiles too. Was it something Scott’d heard that he hadn’t told Stiles? If the Argents thought Jackson was a werewolf, then the plan might not have been for innocent information pulling. They could just have wanted to kill him. Damn it, Jackson didn’t deserve to be a damsel in distress!

Jackson, of course, didn’t understand the reference to a Beta. “What?”

“He thinks you’re me!” Grunting in fury, Scott spun and slammed his arm into the passenger door of Stiles’ car.

“Dude! My Jeep!” But apparently Stiles didn’t exist at the moment.

“I could hear your heart beating from a mile away—literally. Now he thinks that there’s something wrong, and now I have to keep an eye on you so he doesn’t kill you too!”

Stiles could see Scott going toward the Jeep again and stepped in, wrapping an arm around Scott’s shoulders. “Woah—woah, okay, okay, okay, how about we just step away from Stiles’ Jeep?” Luckily, Scott’s recent reminder of _not_ abusing Stiles was still in effect, and he let himself be pulled a few feet away from the precious vehicle.

Jackson didn’t take constructive criticism at the best of times, and being told his life was in danger didn’t sit with him well at all. “You know what, this is your problem, not mine, okay? I didn’t say anything, which means _you’re_ the one that’s gonna get _me_ killed! Okay, this is your fault!” He shoved Scott backwards into the goddamn car.

“Can we stop hitting my Jeep?” Stiles called, a little louder. Then Scott pushed forward with a little bit of murder on his face, and Stiles jumped between the two testosterone bombs. “Alright, wait, yo, guys. Stop, all right?” Even Jackson had to know better than to get in a fistfight with a werewolf.

After a second, Scott calmed down enough for Stiles to let go of the front of his shirt. Breathing hard, he pointed a finger at Jackson. “When they come after you, I won’t be able to protect you. I can’t protect anyone!”

It was weirdly defeatist for Scott, and Stiles flinched when Scott met his eyes. “Why are you looking at me?”

Sure, Stiles had caught a weird amount of Peter’s attention, but Derek had kept him from getting hurt. Except…right. Scott was blaming himself for Stiles being anywhere near Derek. He was the one that kept forcing Stiles to harbor Derek, and had even left Stiles alone with him when Derek got shot. To Stiles it didn’t matter, since Derek was pretty harmless, but Scott had to be kicking himself for putting Stiles in what he thought was grave danger.

“You know what?” Jackson scowled, “Now you have to do it. Give me what I want, and I will be fine protecting myself.”

Huffing, Scott lowered his voice to a strained whisper. “No, you won’t!” His voice picked up again, “Just trust me—all it does is make things worse.”

“Oh, yeah, really? You know, you can hear anything you want and run faster than humanly possible. Sounds like a real hardship, McCall.” Hadn’t Stiles thought the exact same thing just a couple weeks ago?

“Yeah, I can run really fast now,” Scott panted, “except half the time I’m running away from people trying to kill me! And I can hear things…like my girlfriend telling people that she doesn’t trust me anymore right before breaking up with me! I’m not lying to you! It…ruins…your life.”

Stiles knew Scott didn’t want to be a werewolf, that he hated how it complicated things with Allison, but he hadn’t realized Scott hated it so much.

To Stiles’ surprise, Jackson smiled. “It ruined _your_ life.”

That was a dangerous thought.

Being a werewolf _had_ been bad for Scott. Stiles saw that from the first second. It offered him about a million opportunities, but nothing was worth this insane fury, being separated from someone he loved, and putting everyone in danger. Yeah, it’d screwed with Scott’s life pretty spectacularly.

But, as Jackson continued, his point was obvious, and it was one that Stiles had tried really hard not to consider for more than a second. Being a werewolf didn’t work for Scott, but what if it worked for other people? Derek had said it was a gift, something people killed for. It had so many benefits, insane ones. Whoever was bitten never had to fear human illness again. Be it asthma, or something more deadly.

What if…what if these problems controlling himself weren’t normal? What if it was just Scott? What if, had _Stiles_ been bitten, things had been different?

Stiles only had eyes for one girl, and he was _positive_ her family weren’t fucking werewolf hunters. Besides, Lydia would probably turn him down no matter how athletic he got and he’d never have to deal with hiding his secret from her in the first place. He’d never have to worry his dad again. He would never have to be afraid of hospitals again.

Hell, Stiles even tolerated Derek, so he’d have had someone to teach him properly right off the bat.

It took insane amounts of effort for Stiles to come back to the present, to shove away his treasonous, fucked up thoughts.

Jackson was already heading out, zooming off with a smugness that meant he’d probably said something particularly asshole-ish while Stiles was lost in thought.

Scott had been breathing way too hard for the entire conversation, and now he was near hyperventilating, eyes flickering gold. Not stopping to think, Stiles dove for his bag in the car and pressed Scott’s spare inhaler into his palm.

“Just trust me, okay? Just take a puff.”

He’d realized it was the routine that’d helped Scott so much in the locker room. For years Scott’d been reminded by his mom, by Stiles’ dad, or even by Stiles himself, how to breathe once he’d taken a puff of his inhaler. Now he did it on reflex, and Stiles took full advantage of it.

Sure enough, Scott actually calmed down, no anchor needed. _This_ was what Scott needed. He had to be able to control himself without any outside help. Just Stiles. Close enough.

They went for a drive, because Scott still looked a little green, and Stiles didn’t really want to go home quite yet. Driving alongside the edge of the Preserve Scott muttered, “Hey, I’m gonna just run some of this off, okay? Let me out here?”

Stiles couldn’t exactly keep Scott prisoner, so he did as he was asked and headed back into town. He had about an hour before his dad got back. Maybe if he picked up food…but he was out of cash. Well, nevermind then. Time to face the music.

He was still a little early pulling up to the house, but his dad’s car was already there.

Sheriff Stilinski was sitting at the rarely used kitchen table, pouring over a mess of files and papers that looked eerily like Stiles’ own desk upstairs. So that was where he got it from.

There was no scolding, no disappointed looks. Stiles’ dad was completely lost in his work. The murder cases.

He tested the waters. “What’cha doin?”

“Work.”

“Anything I can help with?” If his dad had any sense, this was where he’d turn Stiles away.

But he didn’t even look up. “You know, if you poured me an ounce of whiskey, that would be awfully nice.”

Stiles was back at the table with a bottle and a glass in ten seconds flat. Reaching toward a stray paper, he asked, “Any leads?”

A lead could be good, or it could be bad. On the one hand, if they caught Derek, hooray, he wouldn’t be his uncle’s lackey anymore. On the other, they probably wouldn’t catch Peter at the same time, and then he wouldn’t have Derek to keep him from attacking innocent people…like Stiles.

His hand was thwapped with a pen, and he yanked it away.

“You know I can’t discuss that with you.”

Gleaning what little he could with just his eyes, Stiles uncapped the bottle and nodded routinely at his father’s “Not too much.”

He poured the ounce, then paused.

His dad was in the zone, completely absorbed. He probably wouldn’t notice if Stiles gave him a cup of prune juice instead. Slowly, Stiles tipped the bottle to add more whiskey to the glass. No reaction. A little more…nothing. Finally, Stiles set about four times as much whiskey in front of his dad as was asked for. “Okay, here you go, dad. Bottoms up.”

And his dad drank it, point blank. Thirty minutes ticked by ever so slowly, with Stiles asking pointed questions to test how his dad was feeling, until his dad’s words began to shift into something painfully familiar.

“You know, Derek Hale would be a whole Hale of a lot…Hale of a lot?”

“Hell of a lot?” Stiles prompted.

His dad blinked at him for a good moment. “Hell. Yes. He would be a _hell_ of a lot easier to catch…if we could get an actual picture of him.”

Stiles started. “How do you not have a picture of him?”

He’d been processed in the jail after Stiles’ report, was there under surveillance most of the afternoon.

“It’s the weirdest thing, it’s like every time we tried to get a mugshot it was like two _laser beams_ were pointing at the camera.” He didn’t retaliate when Stiles snatched the photo he was holding.

The outline was definitely Derek shaped, as Stiles was getting familiar with, jacket back on his shoulders and even the scruff on his chin visible. Everything above it was whited out, destroyed by two circular glares in the camera exactly like his dad had said.

Stiles tried not to let his jaw drop. “Nice.” Instant anonymity.

A small thunk drew his attention back to his dad, who’d tossed his glasses down on the table. “God, that ounce hit me like a brick, and I have said way too much, and if you repeat any of that—”

“Dad, it’s me,” Stiles interrupted. “I’m not gonna say anything, come on.”

After a pause, his dad relented. “See, the thing is, they’re all connected. I mean, the bus driver that got killed, he was an insurance investigator assigned to the Hale house fire.”

Stiles leaned forward to peek at the form. “‘Terminated under suspicion of fraud.’”

“Exactly.”

“Who else?” Stiles had been missing so much, just seeing newspaper clippings.

His dad offered up the information without hesitation. “The video store clerk who got his throat slashed. He’s a convicted felon, history of arson.”

It was clicking. Just a few loose ends. “What about the other two guys, the guys who got killed in the woods?” The same guys who’d threatened him and Scott, though he hadn’t been able to mention it. 

“Priors all over their records, including…” his dad slurred.

“Arson,” Stiles whispered. “Maybe they all had something to do with the fire.”

Derek had said he had a deal with Peter, right as Peter was going after Stiles, but he hadn’t stopped Peter from trying to get Scott. If the deal wasn’t to make him leave Stiles and Scott alone, what was it? Scott had said Peter just wanted to kill “the ones responsible.” If all of the victims had been—

His dad was scooting back his chair.

“Another shot?” Stiles offered, holding up the bottle. He needed more time.

It was reassuring and agonizing that his dad shook his head. “No, no, no, no more.”

Like unwinding the VHS of Stiles’ dad’s recovery, Stiles shook the bottle again. “Dad, come on, you work really hard, alright? You deserve it.”

Another heavy blink. “Oh my god, I’m gonna have such a hangover.”

“You mean you’re gonna have such a good night’s sleep,” Stiles joked. He took the glass and turned away from the table to pour the poison. How screwed up was his life that getting his dad drunk might save lives? “And I’m gonna have an eternity in the lowest circle of hell.”

Another few ounces, and his dad was barely coherent. “Stiles, there’s just so many questions.”

“Like what?”

“Like if Derek wanted to kill everyone involved with the fire, then why start with his sister? I mean, she had nothing to do with it. And why make it look like some kind of animal did it?” He rested his brow on the palm of his hand and stared down at the paper under him, spare hand waving lightly for emphasis.

For years, Stiles had been so excited every time he knew something to add to his dad’s cases, but now that he had all the answers, he couldn’t share a single one. They finally knew Peter’s plan. To kill everyone he thought was responsible for the fire, including the Argents, if what Derek had said was true.

“When—when that cougar ended up in the parking lot…I checked with animal control. You know the instances of wild animal reports were up over seventy percent over the past month and a half? It’s like they’re just going crazy, running out of the woods, I don’t know.”

Stiles was grateful that his dad wasn’t looking at him: eye contact felt impossible. “Or something’s scaring them out.”

With all the werewolves returning and running around Beacon Hills with murder or revenge on the mind, it was no wonder the animals were freaking out too. Scott needed to know Peter’s real plan, he had to understand that Derek might not be dark side like they thought. What if his deal with Peter was actually to keep him from killing people instead of helping him do it?

“You know, I miss talking to you, Mischief. It’s like we never have time—”

“Dad, you know what, I have to make a phone call—sorry. I’ll be right back.” Stiles tugged his phone out of his jeans and stood up. Maybe he could catch Scott before he went to bed. If they could find out who Peter was targeting next, maybe they could protect them somehow.

“I do. I miss it,” his dad continued to mutter. “And I miss your mom.”

Stiles stopped. His…they didn’t talk about her. They didn’t say her name, or keep photos on display at the house. His dad was all for communication and healthy displays of emotion, but that was just too painful. They never brought her up. “What’d you say?” For a second he felt ten years old again.

His father didn’t respond, and instead reached for the near empty whiskey bottle sitting on the table. Before he could tip any out, Stiles covered his dad’s hand and placed the bottle right side up again. No more drinking tonight. They couldn’t…they had to keep moving forward, not backward.

Getting his dad to bed was a chore, but it came with soft ruffles of Stiles’ buzzed hair, and mutters about his mother’s eyes that Stiles would probably hold onto for years. He still half felt he was in a dream when he got a call from Scott.

“Come get me, now. Now! Peter has my mom!”

Stiles didn’t remember the time it took to get to Scott, but the plan was simple enough, ram into Peter’s car and keep him busy until Ms. McCall could get away.

As soon as Stiles’ car made contact with the parked Honda, Scott dove out the passenger side and hid while Stiles stepped into his role as decoy.

It was eerie to be in Peter’s presence again after the hospital. Now they were surrounded by people, where Peter couldn’t actually do anything, and all the commotion was putting Stiles in his element.

“Wow—this is just crazy! What a coincidence, huh?” he chirped, ignoring the line of cars now backed up down the road because of his awkward park job. 

Ms. McCall’s laugh was anything but pleased. “What the hell are you doing here, Stiles?”

Peter’s back was turned, but Stiles couldn’t care less what he did, so long as Ms. McCall stayed with Stiles. She was family, and Peter wasn’t getting anywhere near her.

He kept his focus on his act, trying to ignore the chill of the sprinkling rain. “I mean, I do not know what happened. You guys just came out of nowhere.”

“Came out of nowhere? We were parked on the side of the road, Stiles!” Ms. McCall shouted.

Stiles flapped his hands a little. “How crazy is that?” As Peter walked back up to them, he suggested, “I mean, we should probably call the cops, you know, do like an accident report thing.”

He would bet his left shoe that car wasn’t Peter’s.

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Peter soothed. Bingo.

“Are you sure?” Stiles continued, “I think I’m feeling a little whiplash.” He rubbed at the side of his neck while Ms. McCall shouted at him. “Something is definitely wrong with my neck. I don’t think I’m safe to drive.”

Melissa was fuming. “Whiplash? You hit _us_!”

It wasn’t like he _wanted_ to ruin Ms. McCall’s night. It wasn’t her fault her date was a serial killer.

When his feigned injury finally wore down Melissa’s defenses and she checked out his neck, Stiles kept an awkward ten seconds of eye contact with Peter over her shoulder, not quite daring to blink in case that meant he was being submissive or something. The last thing he needed was Peter thinking Stiles wanted to be his lackey too.

Wincing at the right moments convinced Ms. McCall he actually needed help, and she groaned. “Fine, I’ll take you home.” She turned to Peter, who was still watching them. “Watch him for a second while I get my stuff, will you? I’m really sorry about this.”

Then they were alone. Stiles did not want to be alone with Peter.

“Do you really think you’ve accomplished anything here?” Peter asked. “I’m still going to bring Scott into the pack, and who knows? Melissa is a lovely woman.”

Stiles didn’t need to think. “Leave her alone, or you’ll regret it.”

Peter’s ever-present smirk deepened. “Or what? Scott is no match for me and you both know it.”

“Forget Scott, I’ll plug you full of wolfsbane bullets myself.”

Raising his brows, Peter took an actual step back. “Interesting.”

Then Ms. McCall was jumping in, pushing Stiles none too gently into the passenger side of the Jeep and pulling back onto the road with a few more apologies in Peter’s direction.

Stiles didn’t bother to keep down his shudder. “You went on a date with that guy?”

There was a small huff at his side. “I was about to.”

“Why? He’s super creepy.”

“He is not! Just because he asked me out does not make him weird or creepy. He is a very nice man. A medical rep.”

Shocked, Stiles shifted in his seat to look at her, fake injury forgotten. “Ms. McCall, I didn’t mean he was creepy because he asked you out. You’re awesome! He’s the one with all the staring and the murder eyes.”

She actually smiled at him a little as she pulled onto his street. “Thank you, Stiles, but you shouldn’t judge people just because they happen to like…observing people. Or commenting on their skin…Oh god, he was totally weird, wasn’t he?”

“Completely weird. You can do better.” Stiles tossed her a wide smile. “Hey, I’m feeling way better. I’ll drop you off at home instead.”

“Stiles!”

—————————————— 

“This is it? This is the place?”

Derek hated how his home had become a place of nightmares. The rooms his parents, aunt and uncle, and siblings had lived in, burnt to hollow shells that were perfect for scaring the wits out of an idiotic, pompous, teenage boy.

He had carefully monitored Jackson’s heart rate every step of the way from the high school locker rooms, through the Preserve, to his house. Just the sight of it pushed Jackson’s heart to a rabbit pace.

“Go ahead,” Derek said.

Jackson took a couple tentative steps up to the porch before turning and asking, “Is it safe? I don’t want rafters falling on my head.”

That false bravado was exactly what Derek needed to remove, so he didn’t bother answering that whatever was going to fall had already fallen. He just jutted his chin forward gently, he still needed to get Jackson inside after all, and repeated, “Go in.”

The closer to the door they got, Derek two steps behind, the slower Jackson moved. He turned his head back again, and Derek just waved a hand. Jackson didn’t look as excited as before about getting the bite.

“What’s in here?” The whisper was a little closer to what Derek needed.

Without hesitation, Derek responded, “Everything you want.” He’d already explained that Jackson couldn’t get the bite from a mere Beta. The change could only come from the bite of an Alpha.

Finally, ever so slowly, Jackson opened the front door.

The scent of ash clogged up Derek’s nose, but his prey was already in his hands, so it didn’t matter. His uncle was off doing who knew what, with only the promise of no killing to keep him in line, and Stiles hadn’t tried to get ahold of him, so Derek could only assume Scott didn’t need anything. Derek was alone, and more importantly, so was Jackson.

Derek closed the door behind them, cutting off escape. He wasn’t entirely sure how to begin. Just being intimidating came naturally to him after years of isolation with Laura. He knew how to make people think twice about getting in his way or bothering him. But there was a difference between being intimidating and making someone thing you would _actually_ hurt them especially someone with Jackson’s stubbornness.

Jackson spoke first, derailing Derek’s thoughts. “This house…It’s the same house.”

“What’d you say?”

“I’ve dreamt about this place. I—I remember the staircase. I remember these—these walls. I remember everything.”

There was no scent of Jackson in the building or around it until now, but Derek checked anyway. “You’ve been here?”

Jackson shook his head. “No, never. I dreamt it.”

He hadn’t just dreamt it, he’d remembered it. Derek really had accidentally transferred memories to Jackson that day in the hall. Which meant he was definitely the reason Jackson knew about Scott, and planned to expose them all to the hunters.

Now was Derek’s chance to stop that from happening, without his uncle even having to know.

Jackson quickly figured out something was wrong, under Derek’s stare. His eyes went glassy as he tried not to blink. “There’s no one else here.”

Derek shook his head.

“And no one else coming?” A single tear escaped Jackson’s eye to run down the crease of his nose.

Again, Derek shook his head. There was no effort involved in extending his claws, but it set Jackson off almost instantly.

All the false confidence Jackson had been carrying was swept away in whimpers as he collapsed onto the stairs. “No, no, please. Please don’t, okay? I’ll shut up—I’ll never say another word again. I’ll leave Scott alone. Please, you can’t do this!”

If he weren’t currently trying to make up for a massive mistake, Derek would have found it a little pathetic that all he’d done so far was take a couple steps into Jackson’s personal space, and Jackson was crumpling like a pop can.

Jackson’s voice broke into open sobs. “Please! I…I don’t deserve it.” He hiccuped on the last word, seeming about to choke on his own tears.

This wasn’t what Derek wanted. Sure, his mother would be proud of his show of strength, but for the rest of his life, Jackson would believe werewolves to be just as monstrous as Scott did. He wasn’t sure what to say, but he knew he had to say something, if only to pretend that it wasn’t just his claws and teeth that Jackson was afraid of.

“I think you do.” The words were fresh ash on his tongue. Of course Jackson didn’t deserve to die. As Jackson cried out again, Derek changed directions, going for what he knew hurt more than anything. Being alone. “Look around you! Wouldn’t there be someone here, trying to save you? There’s _no one_ here, and there’s a reason. No one cares that you drive an expensive car. No one cares that you have perfect hair, and _no one cares_ that you’re captain of the _lacrosse_ team!”

“Excuse me.” Scott’s voice came from above, and Derek looked up to see him standing at the top of the stairs. “Co-captain.”

How did he get in without Derek noticing?

In one leap, Scott jumped over Jackson’s head into the space left between him and Derek. He shifted on his way down, and Derek matched him. He didn’t want a fight. Scott wasn’t supposed to be here. How was he supposed to deal with Jackson if Scott was trying to play white knight?

“Move,” he growled. “I’m trying to help you.”

Scott growled right back. “No.”

The twang of a bowstring was Derek’s only warning, but he didn’t hesitate. “Cover your eyes!”

A flash lit up the room around the arm he had over his face, and before he could look up properly again, bullets poured through what was left of the front windows and even through the more worn parts of the wall. Derek crawled to the side to hide under the archway of the living room.

It was hard to hear with all the guns going off and sparks continued to flash when bullets hit the exposed piping in the back walls. Jackson was off like a bullet himself, racing toward the back door like he’d lived in the house all his life, but Scott was down. The hunters weren’t pulling any tricks this time, and when Scott hit the floor his stomach was smoking blue and bleeding black. He was riddled with wolfsbane.

“Scott! Go!” Derek shouted. No one else could possibly hear him over the gunfire, and right now he didn’t much care. Scott was far too young to die, and there was no way Derek was letting the hunters get their hands on him.

When Scott didn’t move, Derek waited just long enough for the barrage to slow and dove to Scott’s side. There wasn’t much more he could do than throw Scott’s body toward the back and shout, “Run!”

If they both escaped, the hunters would keep searching for them. But if they caught someone…

Huddling behind the solid oak door until he was sure he wouldn’t be shot in the face at first sight, Derek yanked it open and stepped outside, roaring.

There were so many of them. At least ten, all decked out in leather like they were looking for the closest substitute to pelts they could find. A sick parallel to Derek’s own jacket. Though most of them wore hats, the woman standing at the front let her blonde hair flow over her shoulders.

Kate.

His stomach rolled at the smile on her face as she called a ceasefire and stepped toward him with her animal taser clicking in her hand. Derek’s shoulders twitched at the memory of it zapping him to the broken floorboards of his living room.

Derek knew what hunters were capable of. He knew what Kate was capable of. What she’d already done to him was enough to keep him scared and running for a lifetime. But he was at her mercy. Every Argent-owned mercenary in Beacon Hills had their guns trained on his head.

Fighting was pointless and would just end up with him dead before Scott could properly escape, so Derek put up his hands and pushed down the shift. He couldn’t decide whether to keep his eyes trained on Kate, or keep them away from her in case it antagonized her.

As always, she seemed to just sense how uncomfortable he was. “Hey, Derek. Where’d your friend go? The one we saw climb in through the roof?”

It was safer not to respond. That much Derek knew. Kate had always had the uncanny ability to drag the truth out of him no matter how he tried to circumvent a topic or mislead her. He couldn’t give anything away if he didn’t speak.

“Oh, come on, Derek. We just wanna talk to him. Just like we wanna talk to you. One of you knows who the Alpha is. Why don’t you save us some trouble and just tell us now?” She spread her arms wide, leaving an opening at her throat Derek would love to take if he didn’t know he’d be dead before he crossed the distance. Goosebumps rose everywhere possible on Derek’s body as Kate circled him, reaching his blind spot. He couldn’t turn around.

He needed to stall for time. All these hunters…some of them had to follow the code. Derek looked hard at the ground as he said, “He hasn’t spilled human blood. Leave him out of this.”

A flash of agony zapped through his body from the back of his neck, and Derek was down for the count.

He came to from another shock. As the world vibrated into place, Derek tried to jump away from the pain in his now bare side. His hands were chained above his head in painfully tight cuffs. Hanging from them made his shoulders scream and his lungs compress, and his feet scrabbled for purchase beneath him.

There was just enough space to plant his heels on the ridge at the bottom of the metal fencing he was attached to. Breathing became easier with the relief on his shoulders, damp, earthy air banishing the dark spots in his vision.

“Finally. I’ll admit, maybe the taser was turned up too high. My bad.” The crack of Kate’s laugh made him flinch.

There was another, slightly less intense shock into his side, and Derek looked down to see a whole patch of wires bandaged _into_ his skin. If it were anyone else, he would shout or try to break free. But this was Kate. There was nothing he could do.

She didn’t stick around long, just enough to shock him some more and stare at him until he wanted to bury himself in the cement below. Then she turned off all the lights and left him hanging, the electricity on low to “entertain” him. He tried to focus on how to get out, how to throw Kate off Scott’s trail, anything but the pain burning through his body. He ground his teeth and tried to breathe through it but there was no relief.

Derek was used to healing from attacks here and there. He’d been shot a couple times running with Laura on their way across the country, usually normal bullets, but sometimes the more traditional hunters took after the Argents and stuck him with crossbolts. There were a few issues in New York as well, muggers or angry drunks that got in lucky shots. Each time he found somewhere to hole up until it was gone, usually letting Laura coddle him as best she could working two jobs.

This was different. This was neverending, constant pain and healing, and it was exhausting. It took energy to heal so quickly, and Derek needed fluids and food. From the complete lack of human noise around him, there was no chance of getting that.

—

It took what felt like hours, and probably was, for Derek to hear anything besides the agonizing hum of the electricity shooting through him. The dull thud of heavy boots on dirt preceded the door sliding open and a painfully bright light shining into Derek’s eyes.

The room was nearly pitch black previously, and Derek’s eyes took too long to adjust, hazy smudges of color obscuring the face of the man who was chuckling deeply in front of him.

“Good morning, sunshine. Did ya enjoy your sleep?”

Sleep? Derek hadn’t been able to untense his body yet, how could he have slept? How was it already Sunday?

The form of the hunter in front of him came closer, and Derek snarled, prompting only another bout of laughter. Derek actually stopped short when he diverted toward the table that appeared to be holding the generator he was hooked up to. They weren’t going to kill him yet, right?

Finally coming into focus, the man snorted at him. He was bald and sturdy, the kind of man who would look most comfortable with a knife in his hand. “Don’t get your hopes up. You’re gonna have a visitor later today, and we need to make sure you’re all prettied up.”

Derek screamed as the electricity shot up to an agonizing burn all the way down to his fingertips. It only went down the tiniest amount, and then rubber gloves were pulling at his shackles. Effectively paralyzed, Derek couldn’t prevent himself from tumbling down to the dirt floor, spasming violently, a hundred times worse than the shock Kate had given him during her first visit to his house.

One glove clasped his wrist, and soon Derek was dragging along the ground, somehow continuing to be shocked, even as he was yanked over the doorway of the room.

Eventually the mind-numbing pain lessened enough for Derek to realize he was no longer being moved, and now he was in a new room, more rancid than the last.

Something soft was pelted at his head, and he jumped away from it, only realizing as the wires buried in his skin prevented him from getting farther away, that it was a roll of toilet paper. Gross.

After being forced to crap and piss in front of the bald man holding the apparently _portable_ generator, Derek was paralyzed again and dragged back to his hanging place. He had a moment of slight relief when the generator was turned down, only for it to amp right back to screaming levels when an icy cold, high pressure hose sprayed him down. It was a blessing when he passed out, his own screams echoing in his ears.

The next time he woke up, he was alone, and mostly dry. He hung quietly, steeling himself in case he was given a chance, any chance to get away. The skin around his wrists was raw and wouldn’t heal and his head hurt beyond anything he’d felt before. He’d been thrown into walls and felt less beat up. Not to mention the room was like a freezer. If he’d had any control over his muscles, he would have shivered.

His hair had stopped dripping into his eyes by the time new sounds came in over the rushing in his ears.

One voice was clearly Kate, impossible not to recognize no matter how addled Derek’s mind was. “I hate to see you moping, Allison. This’ll be a good pick-me-up.”

So that’s who his visitor was. Time to indoctrinate the next generation of Argent. Derek was just a prop, a specimen for research and instruction. An animal on display at the zoo.

“What is this place?”

Focusing was hard, but Derek could at least tell no one else was with them. Just Kate and Allison. Surely her parents would want to be here for this? Get the whole Argent clan together to stare at the last remaining member of the Hale pack, at least as far as they knew?

Kate went on, leaning on the door, from the way it creaked. “Let’s start with the basics. You know how every family has its secrets? Ours are a little different.”

As the door rolled open, Derek dropped his head. He didn’t want to get blinded again. But no bright light came, and he lifted his eyes to watch Kate enter the room. She was grinning at him like he was some kind of prize. A head peeked around the corner of the doorway, clearly unable to see him properly in the awful lighting filtering in somewhere behind him. She looked too innocent to be a killer, or a soon-to-be killer anyway, folding her arms around her and squinting at him.

Forcing it over the whine of the current, Derek shifted everything but his eyes. He would never give Kate the satisfaction of seeing his eyes again. But they already thought of him as an animal, so why should he hide his fangs?

Finally the large spotlight placed a few feet away flicked on, and though Kate was hidden behind the glare, Derek still snarled at her.

“Isn’t he beautiful?” Kate crooned.

The fear in Allison’s scent was almost worth it, until Kate tutted at him and stepped over to the voltage box. The power level rose slowly, then jumped up until Derek could feel his body melting back to human and he shouted out.

Again, and again, tearing the shift to the surface then burning it back out of him until Allison cried, “What are you doing to him? Is that gonna kill him?” 

“Oh, come on, kiddo. Don’t get all ethical on me now.” Still, the pain decreased marginally, and Derek went limp, panting hard through a mouth again full of fangs.

The softness of Allison’s voice grated. “What is he?”

“Shapeshifter. Lycan. _Werewolf_ ,” she chuckled. “To me he’s just another dumb animal.”

For precaution or for fun, Kate threw up the voltage again until Derek couldn’t see straight, and the sounds that tore out of him were more like wails than anything else. Then, the current was gone entirely. Derek wasn’t in any shape to do anything about it before Kate was standing in front of him. She lifted his chin with one hand and pulled down his bottom lip with the other, exposing his teeth. “Come here,” she called to Allison. “See these right here? These are canines, also known as fangs. Made for the tearing and rending of flesh. Not something you’d find on those cute little leaf-eating herbivores, is it?”

Everything about the way she touched him was casual, possessive, more predator in those two hands than Derek held in his entire body. Derek couldn’t breathe, couldn’t meet her eye.

“This is a joke to you?” Allison whispered.

Kate dropped her hands from his face, leaving one curled over his abdomen. Her sharp nails felt like claws poised in front of his intestines. “Sweetheart, there are werewolves running around in the world. Everything’s a joke to me, how else do you think I stay sane?”

With his usefulness over, at least for the night, Kate finally moved away from him and immediately turned the power back on. He still didn’t move or look up, even when it sounded like her back was turned.

“So, it was him at the high school, and all the other animal attacks?”

The light flicked off.

“There’s actually three of them. Another younger one, like him, called a Beta. And then there’s the Alpha. Alpha’s the pack leader. Bigger, stronger, nastier. Those are the _real_ ugly motherfuckers.”

The door closed. The footsteps stopped.

Allison was whispering, but Derek could still make her out. “When were they gonna tell me?”

Why wasn’t Derek surprised that Kate had taken it upon herself to bring Allison into the fold?

“They still haven’t decided _if_ they’re gonna tell you.”

“Why?”

“Let’s just say, if you react badly when you find out,” Kate clicked her tongue. “Not good.”

The sound of their voices faded far earlier than it should have, but Derek couldn’t care less. He didn’t raise his head until she was completely gone, and then it was just to glare at the door. It didn’t make sense, how her presence made him incapable of defending himself, but when she was in the room, her scent filling up his nostrils and her hands all over him, he just…couldn’t.

Sooner than he would have thought, footsteps approached the door again, and it was thrown open wide. The bald man was back, and he cracked his knuckles loudly.

“You ready to tell us where the Alpha is? Or should I get to work?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Derek, so...SO much. We saw so fucking little of him, and it hurt me to the core, so I just _had_ to make more content for him. Plus, this way you get to see the other side of their text conversations. XD  
> I think it's especially obvious in this episode, what I'm trying to do with this rewrite. I want to make sense of the nonsensical. Derek's situation with Peter was so bizarre in the show, more than just dysfunctional. And Scott's behavior was weird, and Derek's behavior was weird. And I just couldn't leave it like that. So some changes were made. I hope they're ones you all like.
> 
> For Future Reference: While a Single Hyphen determines a change in day, there is now an Em Dash (that's the extra long hyphen) that determines a change in perspective. I hope it doesn't confuse anyone, but I tried to make all the shifts pretty clear even without the dashes.


	11. Episode 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I say this every time, but the fact that we're getting so close to the end is just bizarre to me. Like, _damn_ , it's almost done, and then it's gonna be out there, for anyone to see. Argh, I need to finish writing S2...  
> Also, Kate Argent Content Warning.

Stiles knew something was wrong when he woke up Sunday morning to no missed calls or texts. After Scott had disappeared from the road, Stiles’d been expecting him to call with an update or _something_. Normally, he’d think that Scott just got sidetracked hanging out with Allison, but they were still broken up as far as he knew. Stiles dragged himself down to the kitchen with his phone in hand, waiting for an answer to his own texts.

_Scott, dude, wut happened after u left last nite?_

_U ok?_

_Dammit, Scott, u can’t ignore me like this. R u ok??_

His dad was already leaning over the counter, staring blankly at the steady drizzle of coffee into the pot. He looked awful. Shit, Stiles did that.

It took a good second for Noah to notice Stiles had entered the room, but finally he turned around and rubbed at his forehead. “Stiles, what’re you doing up at this hour?”

“Uh, Scott and I were supposed to hang out. Maybe practice for a while?” Stiles flinched as his dad’s face pulled into a frown. There wasn’t any paperwork or alcohol to distract Noah from finally getting after Stiles about missing the game.

Squinting, his dad pointed at him. “Right, practice. Like the kind you would do before the game that you skipped out on? Stiles, what happened? I thought this was supposed to be your big break. I mean,” he shook both of his hands in emphasis before dropping them to his thighs, “you made _first line_.”

Stiles sagged under his dad’s gaze and dropped into the chair nearest him. “I know, I know. I just, uh, something came up.”

“Something came up?”

“Yeah, I had to help out a…friend. It was important.”

“A friend?”

Finally, Stiles snapped. “Yes, Dad, a friend. I am friends with more than just Scott.”

To his surprise, his dad threw his hands up again, this time in surrender. “Okay, I believe you. If you say it was important, it must’ve been important. I just wish you’d have told me. I mean, I had to cheer for Greenburg instead.”

Stiles took the olive branch for what it was and chuckled a little. “Gross, Yoda.”

On the counter, the coffee pot beeped that it was done, and at the same time Stiles’ phone rang. It was the clinic, which was supposed to be closed on Sundays. Waving off his dad’s hoot of happiness at caffeine, Stiles pulled the phone up to his ear and spun around, heading back up to his room to change and take his meds.

“Yo, Scott,” he called loudly, entirely for his dad’s benefit as he skipped up the stairs, “ready to help me train for—why the hell are you at Deaton’s? What happened?”

Out of his dad’s hearing, Stiles put the phone on speaker and dropped it to the bed while he yanked on clean clothes. Being friends with a werewolf was seriously upping his hygiene regimen.

_“You need to come get me, we’ve got a problem!”_

“Wait, what? Slow down, what’s going on? Are you safe?”

_“Stiles, just get here! I’m fine! Park in the back, Deaton will let you in.”_

“Why is Deaton there? Scott!” But the called clicked off. Typical.

Maybe he was feeling a little spiteful, but Stiles paused his clothes changing long enough to take a shower and remove the taste of sleep from his mouth. When he got downstairs with his trusty backpack over his shoulder, the coffee was getting cold and his dad was nowhere to be found. A note stuck to the fridge read: _Working a double, see you tomorrow._

He didn’t need the reminder, having already assumed the extra shift was coming since his dad’d taken the night before off, but it was thoughtful. Stiles drank a full cup and snagged a poptart for the ride before heading out.

Considering how frantic Scott was when he got to Deaton’s, Stiles probably shouldn’t have taken so long. As soon as he got up to the doorway, it was thrown open and Scott jumped into the car, urging him to drive back to Scott’s house.

“Where have you been?” Scott wasn’t even looking at him, instead staring out the window and checking behind them.

Stiles squeezed the steering wheel. “Dude, you need to explain what’s going on. Why were you at the clinic? And what happened last night?”

Scott explained his night the whole way to his house and up to his room.

“—and then I woke up in the exam room. Apparently he carried me out of the woods and got the bullets out. But then Peter showed up, in the clinic. He was trying to get to me, but Deaton kept him out somehow. I think he’s going after Allison because I won’t join his pack! We’ve gotta keep Allison as far away from him as possible.”

Needless to say, it was a lot to process, and Stiles was still stuck on a few things. “Wait, so you think Derek was going to kill Jackson, but then as soon as the hunters showed up he helped both of you escape? That doesn’t make any sense, Scott.”

Grumbling, Scott reached for his pockets and began to pat them down. “It doesn’t matter, Stiles, _none_ of this makes sense.” When he didn’t find what he was looking for he whined, “Where is my phone?”

“Why do you need your phone? And why was Peter trying to get to you this _morning_? How’d he even know you were there? How did _Deaton_ keep him out?” Stiles continued, but he still peered around the room for the usual hiding places of Scott’s phone. God, his room was a mess.

It was no wonder Derek picked Stiles’ place to hide in. Sure, he wasn’t _super_ clean, but he knew how to pick up after himself and he did his own laundry. Years of taking care of his dad had turned Stiles into a regular homemaker. He cooked, he cleaned, just to make things a little easier. Even to Stiles’ nose, Scott’s room smelled.

“Stiles, I need to call Derek, or Allison, or both. Will you call my phone?” Scott froze in the center of the room as Stiles made the call, listening for its buzz.

Eventually, it went to voicemail. “Sorry, dude. Do you even have Derek’s number?”

Scott dropped to his knees and shoved his head in the space between his bed and his nightstand. “Call it again.” As though his werewolf hearing couldn’t have picked up the sound of the phone if it were downstairs.

So Stiles called again, and then he called Derek himself, only for it to go straight to voicemail. God, that bastard had no business dying now, after Stiles put in so much effort to keep him alive. He’d driven in a car chase for Derek, he didn’t get to just be dead. “It’s not here.” 

Regardless, Scott was shoving around shoes under his bed, still searching. “I can’t do this alone. I need to find Derek.”

Stiles winced. “A: You’re not alone. You have me. And B: Didn’t you say Derek walked into gunfire? He sounds pretty dead.” The stupid, martyring asshole.

“Argents’ plan was to use him to get to the Alpha—they’re not gonna kill him.” Scott was still searching, now digging through his overflowing closet.

The flood of relief that Stiles felt made him droop a little on the wheelie chair he was currently occupying. “Alright, so, why don’t _we_ just sneak them a hint and tell them who the Alpha is, and then we can go find Derek while they’re distracted.”

Now Scott was in the bathroom. “Because Peter’s going after Allison! I can’t protect her on my own, which means we need Derek. Just—just help me.”

A foam ball smacked Stiles in the head when Scott threw it over his shoulder and picked up everything on his desk.

“You know, you probably lost it when you two were fighting. After you interrupted him scaring the shit out of Jackson?” Stiles snapped. Now, he knew what Derek was intending to do. He was the one who’d suggested it, scaring Jackson into silence. But how had Peter known? And if Peter knew, why didn’t he just outright kill Jackson?

Scott took a deep breath. “I wasn’t going to let Jackson _die_.”

Jackson, Stiles could live without. Sure, they were friends as kids, but that was years ago. Now, he was just a raging douchebag. “Couldn’t you just think about letting him die? For me?”

Suddenly, Scott’s head jerked up and he stared out the window.

“What?” Stiles asked.

“My mom just got home from work.” Scott had finally stopped his frantic searching, and he shifted to sit on the corner of his desk, his face soft and sad.

After a couple seconds, Stiles asked, “Is she okay?”

Scott shook his head.

“What’s she doing?”

“Crying.”

Stiles deflated and reached up to rub at his forehead. God, everything was such a mess. He couldn’t imagine how bad it must suck to be able to hear when your parent is losing it. He usually saw the aftereffects, the drawn face, the slow, lethargic movements. But it’d been a long time since he’d heard his dad cry.

He couldn’t stand how heartbroken Scott looked as he dropped onto the bed and hung his head. Stiles sighed. “Scott, you can’t protect everyone.”

“I have to.”

Stiles spent the rest of the day trying and failing to find Allison with Scott, until nightfall, when Scott caught her scent right outside her house and hopped out of the Jeep a block away.

Stiles leaned out the window. “Scotty, you gotta realize how creepy this is. She’s at home, surrounded by hunters.”

But Scott just shook his head and said, “I have to make sure she’s safe. She won’t even know I’m there.”

“Yeah, that’s the creepy part.”

Stiles ended up just leaving him and doggedly following his order to go home and lock his doors, et cetera. He’d spent the whole day in the car, used up a full tank of gas, and now he had to get all of his homework done. Somehow it was actually relaxing to just sit down on his bed and read a couple chapters of _Catcher in the Rye_ , and then study his econ notes. School hadn’t _really_ been hard since he got on his Adderall and was actually able to focus the whirlwind of his mind on _important_ things like homework, but now it was downright nice.

Except, there was this niggling in the back of his head as he flipped through the pages of his notebook. If Derek wasn’t dead, then he was taken and probably being tortured. Unless he escaped.

Pulling out his phone, Stiles dialed Derek’s number and waited, hoping for a ringtone at least. As soon as the call connected, it went to voicemail. He hung up and tried again. Then again, out of spite. If Derek’s phone wasn’t just dead, and he seemed to have way too long a stick up his butt to be the kind of guy who let his battery run out, then Derek would have turned his phone off on purpose.

What if he was hiding out, and Stiles calling him was gonna blow his cover?

Part of Stiles actually wanted to go find Peter. They could look for Derek together, maybe if Scott promised to just help find Derek they could deal with this like goddamn _people_ instead of all this killing and then vengeancing.

But no, Scott would never go for it, and Peter would probably rip his intestines out now that Derek wasn’t around to stop him. All Stiles could do was be a human teenager, and go to school.

—

So that’s what he did, albeit he didn’t actually get a lot done there, as Scott was dragging him across the school during every free second to check up on Allison. He finally thought he was gonna get a break when they went back to the locker room after practice, but Scott found out he couldn’t go to the dance and insisted on making Jackson do it.

“Dude, the dance is gonna be full of witnesses. Peter would never be able to get to her there. And besides, Jackson will _never_ go for it,” he argued as he changed out of his uniform and pulled on some layers.

Scott frowned. “No way am I leaving her without protection. Yeah, having other people around will be good, but I need to make sure she doesn’t go anywhere alone. Jackson can watch her when I can’t.”

Jackson didn’t look nearly so enthused when Stiles pushed his locker shut to get his attention so Scott could explain the plan.

“You want _me_ to take her to the formal?”

“I don’t want you to, I _need_ you to.”

Stiles could already tell how well that would work when Jackson squinted at him, and he wasn’t surprised to hear Jackson bite out, “Screw you.” Then he looked at Stiles, who hadn’t done _anything_ wrong. “You know what? Screw you, too.” He waggled two of his fingers at them. “In fact, screw each other.”

While Stiles knew Derek wasn’t planning on actually hurting Jackson, and if he had to shout it in his ear for the next century, he would make sure Scott knew it too, Jackson wasn’t quite so in the loop. Stiles took advantage of that. He swung his arm up to point at Scott. “You know he basically saved your life, right?”

“He left me for _dead_ ,” Jackson hissed.

Scoffing, Scott threw his hands up. “I got shot for you!”

That didn’t quite match up with what Scott had said before, but Stiles wasn’t going to interrupt if this whole guilting thing actually worked and kept Allison safe.

Jackson was less than impressed. “Oh yeah? Show me the bullet wound.”

“You know it healed.”

“Mm, convenient.”

Stiles was getting ready to hand over his sarcasm king crown, because _damn_.

Not defeated yet, Scott put on the puppy dog eyes. Was it speciest to call them “puppy” eyes now that Scott was a werewolf? Something to question Derek about…if he wasn’t dead.

“Just do it for Allison, okay? She’s in serious danger. I’m talking around-the-clock danger, and she needs someone to keep an eye on her at the dance.”

Jackson looked around the room for a second before huffing, “Have her dad do it, okay? He’s the one actually equipped to handle this.”

“How am I supposed to do that and keep him from finding out about me?” Scott cried.

They’d lost him completely, not that they’d had him before. “Not my problem,” Jackson said, and he tried to shove past Stiles, but Scott threw a hand up to block him.

If Stiles had a single idea about what would make this go easier, he’d have used it, but as it was he could only stand and watch this trainwreck to the end.

Scott was almost pleading now. “You’re her friend too. You are. All that time you spent with her to get to me—You can’t tell me you didn’t get to know her and like her. It’s Allison. It’s impossible not to like her. You can’t tell me that you don’t care if she gets hurt.”

“What if _I_ get hurt?” Jackson challenged.

“Then it’s worth it.” Oh Scott, oh sweet, innocent Scott.

“Not to me.”

Jackson shouldered his way past Stiles, forcing him to flatten himself against the open locker cubbies. Squeaking a little, Stiles readjusted his shirt and sighed. “Well, I shouldn’t say I told you so…’cause it’s not strong enough. How about I’m always right, and you should listen to whatever I have to say and never disagree, ever, ever, for the sake of your wolvlihood?”

Not one to be beat, Scott turned to his next option, which was apparently scaring the pants off Jackson. Exactly the same thing Derek had probably been trying to do. Great. Stiles was loving the parallels here.

Admittedly, it was a little fun to watch Jackson squirm and sweat as he asked Allison to go to the dance as _just friends_. The dude had been bullying Scott and Stiles for years. Still, tossing him into the door was too much. Stiles needed to work on teaching Scott moderation.

As they leaned around the corner for Scott to listen into Jackson and Allison’s conversation, Stiles bumped his shoulder. “Hey, don’t worry. I’ll still be there.”

“I’m still going.”

Stiles stared at the back of Scott’s head. “Is that such a good idea?” Weren’t they supposed to be _not_ drawing attention to Scott right now? “Do you even have a date?

“Not yet.”

“Do you have a suit?”

“Not yet.”

“Do you have a ticket to the formal? A ride there?”

“No, and no.”

Stiles added everything up in his head. “So you’re going to ride your bike to a dance that you’re not even allowed to go to, without a date, a suit, or a way in, with werewolves and werewolf hunters all out to kick your little werewolf ass.”

The look on Scott’s face was one Stiles had known more than half his life. “Yeah. You gonna help me?”

“Hell yeah.”

—

Trying to help Scott prep for the dance didn’t mean they got to stop following Allison like a bunch of creeps. Seriously, this was like, Derek level creeping. They’d followed her car all the way from the school to the mall, and then Scott’d made them take the stairs so they could get to the floor Allison and Lydia were headed to before them. Then he bailed to make things look less suspicious.

Completely at a loss for how to look natural on the dress floor of Macy’s, Stiles headed for what looked like a perfume—and cologne, thank god—counter. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Lydia and Allison reached the top of the escalator, and when they looked over at him, he quickly spritzed some cologne onto his wrist. The nozzle was turned the wrong way, however, and he got a mouthful of _Musky Delight_. That was okay though, he sneezed his way through it.

The problem came when they didn’t _stop_ staring at him. Then they were walking toward him. This was not the plan.

“Hey, Stiles!” Allison chirped, as cheerful and sweet as ever. For a girl raised by hunters, she was surprisingly fawn-like. “Are you here shopping for a suit?”

“Yes! I mean, no. I mean, I already got my suit, I just came to see if there was anything that might go with it. Like a new scent. Uh, smell. Not sure it’s my thing though.” If it wouldn’t get him permanently banned from Scott’s lunch table, he would have slapped a hand over his own mouth. “What about you?”

Allison grinned wide and shrugged. “Well, we’re here to find dresses, but Lydia saw you and remembered she had something to ask you.”

Stiles’ mouth went dry. “M—me?” He looked at Lydia, who was currently glaring at Allison. “You had something to ask _me_?”

He had to read the sign above Allison’s head to reassure himself he wasn’t dreaming, as Lydia made the most adorable little snort.

“Yes. I’ve decided that you should take me to the formal.”

Bells, _actual_ church bells were ringing in Stiles’ head. “Y—you. You want—me to?” he spluttered. “Yes. Oh my god, yes. Definitely. Sure!”

If this _was_ a dream, he didn’t want to wake up anymore.

Stiles wasn’t stupid. As Allison giggled and Lydia turned on her heel and headed toward the dress racks, he knew there was no way she’d decided to go with him on purpose. Sure, she and Jackson weren’t dating anymore, but she didn’t look happy in the least about Stiles being her date instead. She’d been put up to it.

But he wasn’t giving this up. Stiles just had to show her how great they were together. He would be the best goddamn date she’d ever had. Determined, he followed after her with a bright smile. “So, do you want any help picking something out? I’m actually pretty good with colors. I painted my bedroom this toothpaste, bluey-green that totally zens me out.”

Lydia ignored him, flicking through a rack of silver and white dresses with a sharp eye.

Allison went over to a pink rack and actually responded, “I’ve been trying to figure out what to paint my room since I moved here, and I still have no clue.”

“Well, research shows that bedrooms painted green are actually supposed to make you feel calmer, but if you’re doing homework in your room, sticking to the teal area will keep you creative and calm. I picked out color samples for my whole house according to that study, but my dad only let me do my own room.” Trying to pull Lydia in, he leaned on her rack and smiled. “I noticed your room was grey. Did you know that’s the only color that doesn’t have any good psychological connotations? It’s actually used when you’re trying to convince people to overlook stuff.”

Finally, Lydia looked at him, but it was with squinted eyes and a grim mouth. “When, exactly, were you in my room?”

She didn’t remember? “I—well, I went to see you. After the video store…thing. Remember? I mean, you were pretty tired and, uh, loopy.”

Lydia shook her head. “No, the only person who visited me was—” She froze, jaw set hard as she stared at the off-white dress clutched in her hands. Suddenly, she scowled. “Nevermind.” She shoved the dress at Stiles, and when he took it, she pulled at least five more hangers off the bar and draped them over his arms.

As she threw the last one on top, Stiles spluttered until taffeta stopped sticking to his lips. “Are you just gonna try these on…right now? All of them?” He was supposed to be watching Allison. How long would this take? “Is this a twenty-four-hour Macy’s?”

Most of the time when Stiles went shopping, he went to the sale racks and snatched anything that looked remotely sarcastic and anything plaid. He had a style, and he stuck to it, almost never taking the time to try anything on and just buying a size too big to save time. He hadn’t realized how fancy dressing rooms were, at least the girls’ ones. There was a whole half circle of mirrors and some seriously comfy seats for him to wait on while Lydia disappeared into one of the rooms.

Lydia had just stepped out of her cubicle wearing the first dress, a silver one with a ruffled bodice and a black ribbon around the waist, when the boring pop music over the intercom was interrupted by a voice announcing a car was getting towed. Pausing and looking up toward the speaker, Lydia spoke to Stiles properly for the first time. “What was the plate they said?”

On reflex, Stiles spit it out using the NATO alphabet his father had taught him for radio conversations, “Five-Union-Nora-One-Seven-Six-Eight.”

Lydia didn’t miss a beat. “That’s Allison’s car.” She ran back to the dressing room and returned moments later in her own clothes, carrying two dresses over her arm. “Come on!” she scolded, stalking past him.

It took barely five minutes before she’d paid for both dresses and Stiles was following her out of the mall through the parking lot. Allison was leaning on a blue car with a matching license plate to the one announced, looking around and biting at her thumb. When she saw them approach, she threw her hands up. “Someone reported my car getting towed, but it’s right here. Who would do that?”

Lydia scoffed. “Someone probably didn’t read the plate right when they were reporting another blue Mazda. Or it was some stupid prank.”

Stiles looked around himself. Scott would’ve done it if he thought Allison was in danger in the store. Had Peter really showed up? If he was somewhere around, Allison needed to get home where her family could protect her. “Right, well, it’s pretty late, you guys should probably get home. Beauty rest and all that,” he joked, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Apparently Allison agreed, because she nodded for a second, only to groan. “I still don’t have a dress, and I won’t have time for the rest of the week.”

With a smug, yet gentle smile, Lydia held out one of the dresses she’d bought. It was silver too, but longer and with twice as many ruffles. “Here, this one should be your size.”

Allison gasped. “It’s _beautiful_. Thank you!”

Her rush to pull Lydia in for a hug had Stiles stepping back, and suddenly he was very uncomfortable. Allison was great, and Lydia was heaven on Earth, but he wasn’t really friends with either of them, and he certainly didn’t have their affinity for sparkly dresses. “If you guys are ready to leave, I’m gonna head out.”

Lydia barely spared him a glance as she popped open Allison’s back door and hung the dresses from a hook above the door. So that’s what that was for. “Pick me up at nine on Friday.”

“Yes, got it. Nine o’clock.”

Once he’d gotten the both of them in the car and they’d driven off, Scott appeared at his side just in time to laugh at his enthusiastic fist pump into the sky. He was Lydia Martin’s date to the winter formal.

—————————————————————

“Come on, Derek. He killed your sister,” Kate scorned, digging through his jacket where it lay spread out on the table.

Derek was too busy enjoying his chance to heal to listen to what Kate had to say. The bald guy had broken at least two ribs, and he hadn’t been able to heal them fast enough before the generator got turned back on and he was left alone. But Kate didn’t seem to like not being able to paw at Derek, so she turned the generator off as soon as she got in the room.

He wanted to think that if he were better healed, he’d have fought back and escaped, but by now he knew better, and so did Kate. He couldn’t do anything against her. It only barely helped the shame to know that as long as Kate had him, she wasn’t going to be searching as hard for Scott. Peter was who she really wanted, even if she didn’t know it was him.

He kept his eyes trained on the floor, but he could hear Kate flicking through thin paper. She was in his wallet then.

“Now…either you’re not telling me because, well, you want to kill him yourself. Or, for some reason, you’re protecting him.” She turned around and stalked over to him.

A hand grabbed his chin in a pinched hold and jerked it up. He kept his eyes aimed down, nearly closed, as she chuckled. “Look at that sour face.” A card jabbed him in the cheek. His driver’s license?

When Kate lowered her hand, he saw that yes, she had his license. Laura had laughed at him when he got it in the mail, said he looked like a angry cat or something. He felt the whole memory go bitter as Kate continued, spinning around to pace the room. “I bet you always used to get people coming up to you saying, ‘Smile, Derek. Why don’t you smile more?’ Don’t you just wanna kick those people in the face?”

It wasn’t fair of her to ruin what little he had left of Laura and his memories of her. Daring to raise his eyes, he glared at the back of Kate’s head. “I can think of one.”

He hadn’t had anything to drink since that morning when baldy came to get him for his bathroom break and “shower,” and his voice came out cracked. Still, Kate looked delighted when she turned around.

“Promise?” she asked. “Cus’ if I thought you’d be that much fun, I’d let you go.”

Her words stung enough for him to drop his head again.

Disappointed, Kate went back to the table. Her fingertips tapped against something smooth and plastic. “No…no…nope. God, I hate this detective crap.”

Derek peeked over to see her jabbing at _Scott’s_ phone, clearly trying to crack the passcode. If she guessed it randomly or turned it over to someone with more tech knowhow, she’d realize whose it was and they’d both be screwed.

He’d known it was a long shot to steal Scott’s phone when he threw him toward the back of the house, but he’d hoped Scott would need him, or at least his phone, enough to use it to find him. Derek didn’t even know where he himself was, and if he somehow got out of this room, he had no idea how many Argents there were waiting outside. He was blind and deaf the whole time Baldy dragged him to the other room, aware only of the sizzling of his ribs and muscles.

More desperate to distract Kate from realizing the phone wasn’t his than he was afraid of her attention, Derek rolled his head to one side and huffed, “Are you gonna torture me, or are you just gonna talk me to death, huh?”

He regretted it the instant she looked at him over her shoulder. How could anyone look so horrifying and sweet at the same time?

“Oh, sweetie, I don’t…I don’t wanna torture you.” She dropped the phone back on the table and advanced. “I just…wanna catch up.” There was a glint in her eye, pure trouble. He used to think it was cute. “Remember all the fun we had together?”

Again, she’d read his mind. How? She wasn’t supposed to be able to do that! To be a completely blank slate, impossible for him to read. Even her heart gave nothing away, and yet she read him like an open book and tore everything out of him. “Like the time you burned my family alive?”

Kate giggled. “No…I was thinking more about the…” She stepped right up into his space again, making his skin crawl, “hot, crazy sex we had.” The way she grinned looked more like a baring of teeth than anything else. “But the fire thing, yeah, that was fun too.”

Derek jolted forward. Now, if he got out of these shackles right now, he could do it. There was no one else in the room, no one else he could hear outside the door. If he could just get out.

It only egged her on. In a moment of clarity, unclouded by her usual manic joking, she met his eyes and got as close as she dared. “I _love_ how much you hate me. Remember how this felt?”

Oh, god, that was her tongue. She licked a stripe up from his abdomen to his chest and if there’d been any real food in his stomach, he’d have thrown up. He let the shift go just a little and snarled at her with his fangs out. He knew that was what she wanted, but all he could think was to make it _stop_.

She hummed at him, voice soft as velvet. “Sweetheart, I really don’t want to torture you.” Backing away, she called out, “Come on in!”

Almost immediately, the door opened and Baldy stood waiting. How hadn’t Derek heard him?

Kate grinned. “But he does.”

Baldy didn’t mind wearing gloves to beat Derek, so the electricity went back on, and then went high enough to stop any and all healing. Eventually, Derek lost track of time. He _hurt_ , and Kate wouldn’t stop laughing from the corner, not even bothering to interrogate him during Baldy’s breaks. She knew he wouldn’t talk. This was just a fun way to pass the time until she decided to kill him.

He wasn’t going to make it out of this alive unless someone found him. His best chance was Peter, but if he hadn’t come by now, then he couldn’t find him. That left Scott, who would actually have to figure out Derek took his phone for that plan to work. Stiles was more likely to understand what Derek’d meant to do, but Derek still needed _Scott_ to actually do the searching. It was Scott’s phone after all, it wasn’t like Stiles knew how to track his GPS.

———————————————————

They’d given up on any niceties, leaving his brain half-fried constantly now, and by the time Kate actually spoke to him again, he only knew it was a different day because her clothes had changed. How long had he been here?

Something had changed with Kate and she finally tried to get him to talk, like she was under some kind of pressure. She joked, then ordered, then snapped. The pain went up and down, and then so high Derek stayed deaf for a good half hour and at least then he didn’t have to listen to her shouting at him about things he didn’t want to remember. He heard her call Baldy “Marcus,” then forgot it again for a while after a few more zaps. Even when he did remember, he decided to continue calling him Baldy.

 _Finally_ , she seemed to lose steam, and she dropped into her chair, for once leaving the power on. She wouldn’t be touching him today. Small blessings.

It was like she was genuinely upset with him for not telling her, like it hurt her feelings. She gave him the cold shoulder for another hour, playing games on her phone. At one point it started ringing, and she just sat it on the table and stared at it until it stopped, swearing under her breath. She managed ten minutes of ignoring it before finally giving in and listening to a voicemail.

_“Hey. It’s me. I’m getting tired of leaving messages; I wanna know where you are. Call me. Now.”_

Derek knew that was Chris, but he couldn’t believe Kate was hiding from him. Kate. Hiding from her big brother. Did he even know she had Derek? If she was working alone, or almost alone, if you included Baldy, then he might actually have a chance of getting out.

Of course, that was when Kate lost her patience. “Unfortunately, Derek, if you’re not gonna talk…I’m just gonna have to kill you. So, say hi to your sister for me.”

Derek couldn’t breathe as her hand went to the dial. How long would she draw this out?

Suddenly, Kate paused. “You did tell her about me, didn’t you? The truth about the fire?”

His throat was still raw from screaming, and he used that to excuse the lump caught in it.

“Or did you?” Kate gasped and crossed her arms like they were sharing secrets together. She whispered, “Did you tell anybody?”

His silence was enough of an answer. 

“Oh, _sweetie_. That’s just a lot of guilt to keep buried.”

Whether she was taking out her annoyance with her brother on him, or it was just her usual charm, Kate’s smile went sharp. “It’s not all your fault. You got tricked by a pretty face. It happens! Handsome young werewolf mistakenly falls in love with a super hot girl who comes from a family that kills werewolves.” Her laughter seemed to choke her up for a second, and Derek wished it would suffocate her. “Is that ironic?”

She stepped up to him, seeming to revel in how he flinched to get away from her. “Is it ironic, that you’re inadvertently helping me track down the rest of the pack…again? We’re just a little bit of history repeating.”

Kate went for the generator again, but slowed before she even got close. “History repeating,” she whispered.

Shit.

“It’s not Jackson, is it?” Kate came back. “Oh, no, no, no. He’s got a little scratch on the back of his neck, but he’s not in love with Allison.”

Not again. Not again. Derek’s eyes burned and his jaw trembled, but he managed to at least look at Kate’s chin, if not her eyes. He’d done it again.

“Not like Scott.”

———————————————————

Stiles had been fully expecting Lydia to be her usual blunt self when he pulled up to her freaking mansion in the Jeep, but besides a surreptitious side-eye, she didn’t say anything. There was also no talking on the way to the dance, and whenever Stiles tried, Lydia actually tutted at him.

He still had plans to show her how perfect they could be together if she would just give him a chance, and when they parked in the school lot he told Lydia to wait there while he got out. Of course, he managed to jab his hand on a bent piece of latch in his door, but it didn’t even bleed. He scrambled around the front of the car and yanked open the passenger door with as much finesse as the old Jeep would allow.

Lydia climbed out off the passenger seat and swept off her skirt, even though Stiles knew his car wasn’t actually dirty. He’d cleaned it out specifically for this. Maybe there were a few blood stains on the floor from when Derek was bleeding out, but that couldn’t really be helped.

He’d expected some kind of pride, seeing Jackson come over with Allison. After all, he’d watched Jackson be a total ass to Lydia for ages, and now _he_ was her date and Jackson was going with Allison as friends. But it just kind of stung, seeing Lydia brighten the second Jackson walked by, and listening to him completely dismiss her.

As he walked away, a reluctant Allison on his arm, Lydia began muttering to herself, reminding Stiles so much of himself he could only stare.

“I don’t care. I _don’t_ want compliments. I will _not_ fall prey to society’s desire to turn girls into emotionally insecure neurotics who pull up their dresses at the first flattering remark.”

God, she looked miserable. “Well, I think you look beautiful.”

Stiles had tried to tell Lydia how amazing she looked and sounded, and was in general, for years. This was the first time she’d actually listened to him. The usual sarcastic and haughty glare she leveled at him dropped for just a second. “Really?”

Rather than try to drag out the surprisingly emotional moment, Stiles held out his elbow. With a bounce of her silky smooth curls, Lydia took it and pranced into the dance with him with her usual amount of confidence. Stiles couldn’t stop smiling, knowing he’d caused it.

As soon as they entered the gym, Lydia dragged Stiles over to an empty table and claimed a seat. Stiles knew she was looking for Jackson, the way she twitched every time someone passed behind her chair. Wherever he’d disappeared to, Lydia couldn’t find him, and she drooped low after just a few minutes. So much for just enjoying the party.

Sitting at a table got boring really fast. Stiles didn’t have anything to do but think about the things he’d already thought about the whole week. How long before Scott got discovered by the Argents? How long until Peter made whatever move he wanted to make? Whether or not Derek was dead by now.

He’d been missing the whole week. Stiles knew that Scott didn’t believe Derek was going to be killed, but that didn’t mean he was tucked up in a nice comfy prison cell bed. He couldn’t…he couldn’t think about it.

Finally Stiles snapped at the sight of Allison and Jackson dancing just a few feet away. Even Jackson was able to have fun tonight, and he’d been strong armed into going by a werewolf.

“You wanna dance?”

Lydia lifted her eyes from where they were boring holes in the cheap star covered tablecloth. “Pass.”

Ugh, how did Jackson get her to actually do human things? “You know what, let me try that again.” Stiles stood up and leaned over his chair. “Lydia, get off your cute little ass and dance with me now.”

Lydia stared at him for a second. “Interesting tactic. I’m gonna stick with no.”

Stiles groaned and let out the air he’d been trying to puff his chest up with. “Lydia, get up! Okay? You’re gonna dance with me. I don’t care that you made out with my best friend for some weird, power thing, I don’t—” He waved a hand around to dismiss the thought. “Lydia, I have had a crush on you since the third grade, and I _know_ that somewhere inside that cold, lifeless exterior, there is an actual human soul.” Wow, he sounded like an ass. Shit. “And I’m also pretty sure that I’m the only one who knows how smart you really are.”

She wasn’t grimacing anymore. Progress. “Uh huh. And that once you’re done pretending to be a nitwit, you’ll eventually go off and write some insane mathematical theorem that wins you the Nobel Prize.”

Lydia blinked at him and looked away. “A Fields Medal,” she croaked.

“What?”

She flounced upward and stepped into his bubble, _smiling_ at him. “Nobel doesn’t have a prize for Mathematics. The Field’s Medal is the one I’ll be winning.”

A warm hand found his, and then Stiles was being led onto the dance floor by his dream girl. He punched the air in victory, and she didn’t even make fun of him when she saw over her shoulder.

He got a good couple songs of bliss, only momentarily interrupted by Scott’s arrival. Lydia laughed with him as Finstock chased Scott through the crowd, only stopping when Scott pulled Danny into a dance.

Danny was one of the nicest people in school and everybody loved him. Finstock had no choice but to let Scott stay if he was Danny’s dance partner. The shrewd move wasn’t very tasteful, especially since Stiles had seen Danny dancing with a different guy earlier, but it got the job done.

Holding Lydia in his arms was about a hundred daydreams come true, and it was even better when she brought up midterms. They were coming up soon, and he debated with her for a couple songs about the best ways to study. He personally preferred color coding, but Lydia had a decent sounding system of note cards and memory improvement strategies. In all his time of imagining being with her, he’d never considered how nice it would be to just talk to her. Lydia’s brilliance was awesome from a distance, but up close and personal every conversation felt like a satisfying game of chess.

Things changed during their second slow song. Stiles’d hoped he could distract Lydia from worrying about Jackson and it’d worked for a little while, but soon she started looking around again. This time there was no droop of the shoulders, and her body went tense.

“You okay?” Stiles pulled away a little bit to look at her.

He could see her struggling to come up with a smile. “Uh…just need to take a little break.”

“You mean you need to go find Jackson.”

Her hands trailed down his arms and clutched at his cuffs, while she looked at the floor. After a second, she lifted her eyes and nodded.

How could he be mad at her when she looked so sad? Jackson might be an asshole, but if Scott was here, then he’d definitely grabbed Allison, leaving Jackson dateless. She was worried about her ex, and Stiles couldn’t blame her. “I get it,” he said. It didn’t mean it didn’t suck.

They walked together through the crowd, Lydia leading and holding his hand behind her. Jackson wasn’t dancing with anyone else, and he wasn’t on the bleachers or spiking the punch again.

Finally Lydia turned to him, “I’m gonna go check the field. He goes there sometimes.”

“Do you want me to come with?”

Lydia shook her head, and he gestured toward their table, where her purse and his jacket were holding their seats. “Then, take my jacket at least. It’s freezing.”

“No, Jackson will lend me his,” she said, smiling with confidence, like it was something Jackson did all the time.

Before he could stop her, she’d disappeared out the back door of the gym. At a loss, Stiles pulled out his phone and dialed Jackson’s number. It was still ringing as he headed out to the front hallway, swatting at the tinsel hanging from the doorway of the gym. Just as he rounded the corner, Jackson appeared from the badly lit hall. His eyes widened at the sight of Stiles, and he froze.

“Where the hell have you been?” Stiles scolded. “Did Lydia find you?”

Jackson didn’t respond, just tugged on his own shirt sleeve and blinked rapidly like there was something he needed to say. Like he was guilty.

Stiles shrugged his shoulders, he didn’t have time for this. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I—I was out behind the school, and I…I was out…”

In eight years of classes together, Jackson had never so much as flinched at Stiles. Now, he looked terrified to say anything. “What happened?” he asked, squinting hard. “Jackson, what did you do?”

A tear rolled down Jackson’s cheek. “I saw him, the Alpha. His eyes were _red_. And then he left, and I went after him. The—the hunters found me. They wanted to know…I’m sorry.”

Stiles shoved at Jackson’s shoulders until they were out of sight from the kids going into the dance. “You _what_? You told them about Scott? You—wait. Jackson, are you sure it was the Alpha?”

When Stiles smacked his shoulder, Jackson sputtered, “Yeah! Yes, it was him. I know it was.”

“Where?”

“Behind the school! Next to the field.”

Stiles’s eyes unfocused as he backed up, stumbling toward the hall that would take him to the back door. “Lydia.”

Jackson jumped forward. “What about her?”

But Stiles waved his hand. Jackson was only human, and someone needed to warn Scott. “Jackson, find Scott! You have to tell him about the Alpha and the hunters.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, streaking through the dark halls toward the lacrosse doors that led right onto the field. Peter was outside, the hunters were outside, and Lydia was wandering around looking for Mr. Douchebag.

As he threw open the doors, Stiles could see Lydia’s form, a splotch of white in the dark. He ran over to the fuse box for the field lights and threw them on before turning to Lydia. The floodlights popped on in a circuit around the field, throwing Lydia into relief. Her arms were wrapped around her body, and she was staring off the other edge of the field.

Faintly, he could hear her voice calling, “Jackson?”

That wasn’t Jackson. Stiles started running again, screaming as he watched another shape getting closer to her. “Lydia! Run!”

All it did was make her stop and turn to look at him, leaving her completely blind to Peter coming up behind her. He was too far away to see clearly, but he heard Lydia’s scream and watched Peter take her down, his growl rumbling through the air. That was _blood_ splashing into the air.

Stiles slid on his knees to a stop a foot away from her and flinched away from Peter, who’d covered her whole body with his own and issued a challenging snarl. He was protecting his meal, blood all around his mouth and dripping down his chin.

“Don’t kill her. Please,” Stiles pleaded, avoiding eye contact. It wasn’t hard, as he could barely look away from Lydia’s face and the blood seeping down the middle of her dress.

Maybe it was because Stiles had talked to him, or because he wasn’t nearly as out of control as he looked, but Peter lifted himself up a little and stopped snarling. In fact, he smiled with red stained teeth. “Of course not. Just tell me how to find Derek.”

That was enough to break Stiles’ concentration on Lydia. “W—what? I thought you wanted Allison for that! Why would you attack Lydia?”

Peter squinted at him. “Don’t play games with me, Stiles. Tell me how to find Derek.”

“I don’t know that! If I knew that he wouldn’t be missing!” Stiles shouted. He’d been looking for Derek all week, unable to convince Scott to help find him because it would keep him from watching over Allison. The one he said Peter was after.

“I said no games! I will rip her apart if you don’t tell me.” Peter’s eyes glowed red, and he let one clawed finger drift down to Lydia’s pale cheek.

She was bleeding out, and Stiles didn’t have time for this. “Peter, you raging dick! If you wanted my help why didn’t you just come find me? Why didn’t you just ask? You didn’t have to hurt her!”

Peter opened his mouth impossibly wide and roared, words barely intelligible as the sheer force of his voice nearly bowled Stiles over. “ _TELL ME!”_

“I don’t know! I don’t know! All I know is his phone is off, and Scott’s phone is missin—he knew.” Stiles froze, gears turning in his head as he watched a the red stain on Lydia’s dress reach the grass on the other side of her body. “I think he knew.”

“Knew what?”

“I think he knew he was going to be caught.”

“By the Argents?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“And when he helped Scott escape after they started shooting at them, he must’ve taken Scott’s phone.”

Looking tired of the broken conversation, Peter tilted his head. “ _Why?_ ”

“They all have GPS now, so if he still has it, and if it’s still _on_ , you can find him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the bit of a cliffhanger, I'm just doing what the show told me to. Up next some Peter time! I'll admit, I hated this guy the first time I watched the show. But re-watching and really trying to consider what he's dealing with, I came to _love_ him as an ambiguous character. Can't promise that I'll write him particularly well, but I'm excited to try. :)


	12. Episode 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I'm sure you all know, Season 1 only has 12 episodes. So, this chapter is going to bring us right up to the end of the season, and then there'll be one chapter left for me to post. There are so many insanely good parts, I can't even pick a favorite. I really hope you like it.
> 
> Once again, insane props to my lovely Beta [Madeline](https://beacon911.tumblr.com) for putting up with all of this and helping me make it so good.

Now that he’d gotten what he wanted, Peter was quick to jump to his feet and pull a cloth from his pocket, a real handkerchief, to wipe his face. “Get up, we’re going.”

“No,” Stiles argued, scooting closer to Lydia’s shoulders. He kept his hands to himself, though. “I’m not just letting you leave her here.”

Peter dabbed at his jaw a little more. “You don’t have a choice, Stiles. You’re coming with me.”

Stiles himself wanted to growl, he was so angry. “Look, I don’t care if you want me! I’m not leaving her here to die! So just—”

The sharp point of Peter’s index claw pressed itself to the underside of Stiles’ jaw, pushing upwards until he was forced to his feet. Leaning in close, Peter smiled. “Call your friend. Tell Jackson where she is, that’s all you get.”

Stiles didn’t waste time pulling up Jackson’s number. He was supposed to have gotten Scott. Where the hell was Scott? Jackson’s phone only rang twice before Jackson picked up.

“Look, Stilinski, I—”

“Jackson, shut up. Forget everything else. You need to get out to the field, Lydia’s—she’s—just get the hell out here, okay? Run!”

Stiles’ phone was snatched from his hand, and Peter put his own palm over the back of Stiles’ neck, shoving him toward the parking lot. “Time to go.”

Staying quiet was never Stiles’ strong suit, and as Peter twined through the cars, heading straight for Stiles’ Jeep like he remembered it, he wrestled himself free and asked, “Why Lydia? Why did you hurt her? You didn’t have to!”

“I could smell you on her, and I needed to get your attention,” Peter said, completely unfazed.

Vaguely, Stiles wondered why Peter hadn’t killed him for being obstinate yet. “Okay, but why me? Scott said you were going after Allison because he wouldn’t join your pack. What do you want me for?”

Peter slammed his way into Stiles’ Jeep, and Stiles joined him, wondering when his car became a Hale transport vehicle. The sound of Peter’s scoff was almost drowned out by Stiles turning over the engine until the Jeep sputtered to life. As he drove over to the exit onto the street, Peter pointed right and Stiles took the direction.

“I wasn’t there to make Scott join my pack. He’s going to do that anyway. I wanted him to help me find Derek. As soon as I knew he was missing I tried to track him down and, when that didn’t work, I found Scott. He has no concept of minimizing his scent, it’s like following a string across town. Turn right.”

Stiles flicked on his turn signal and swerved into the right lane just in time to make the turn. “But what does that have to do with Allison?”

A short huff of air that made the family resemblance between Peter and Derek that much more obvious, then, “Nothing. I believe the words I used were ‘innocent’ and ‘vulnerable.’ Allison is anything but either of those. She’s an Argent, and constantly under guard from her family. Besides, she doesn’t know where Derek is.”

Shaking his head, Stiles waved a hand before slapping it back to the wheel. “Then, who were you talking about?”

There was no response. After a moment of silence, Stiles glanced over to see Peter side-eying him.

“Oh.” Was it possible to feel retroactively unsafe? Because Stiles did.

The whole week when he and Scott had been trying to protect Allison, Peter had been going after _him_.

“Woah, wait. Then what happened at the mall?” Scott had seen Peter threatening Allison.

“She has horrible taste in dresses,” Peter said simply.

Stiles’ jaw dropped. “Seriously? You just wanted to give her fashion advice? That’s what you’re going with?”

For the first time, Stiles saw Peter look less than confident. He shifted in his seat. “It was a family tradition. Left here.”

Unable to help it, Stiles laughed. He knew what Peter was trying to imply, and, wow, that had to hurt, but still. “That doesn’t make it any less creepy. She’s a teenage girl! No wonder Scott freaked.”

“Yes, well. I was hoping Scott would freak slightly differently. He’s been attached to your side like a burr this whole time, and I needed to get you alone. Imagine my surprise when he figured out how to get Allison away from me without leaving the store.”

Stiles scoffed. “You’re the one that’s been trying to make him kill all his friends. Of course he’s going to protect us.”

Peter turned to look at him, exasperation layering his voice as he drawled, “Tell me, Stiles. How exactly does Scott messily murdering his little human friends help me in any way?”

“Because in order to join a new pack, he has to get rid of his old one.”

“What old one?”

Taking his eyes off the road for a moment, Stiles glanced over at Peter. Suddenly he was a little less sure. “U—Us. Me and Allison and Lydia and Jackson.”

Peter outright laughed. “You? Four humans and a Beta who can all barely stand to be in a room together? You’re not a pack. Left.”

“What? Yes, we _are_. That’s why you made Scott lose control in the school. So he’d kill us and join your pack.”

Peter settled back into his seat and folded his hands together, watching the road. “I wanted him to join me, yes. I was only there to pick him up. He called me, after all. The easiest way to get him to listen was to force his instincts to the surface by making him shift up.”

Against his better judgement, Stiles blinked. “Shift _up_?”

“Yes, up. As opposed to down. I thought you were the smart one.”

“What do you mean shift up?”

“Into his,” Peter held up his fingers in quotation marks. “Beta shift. I believe you’re familiar with it. Fangs, pointy ears.”

With a shake of his head, Stiles refocused on another point. “Wait, only there to pick him up? You put your hand through Derek’s chest!”

Peter sighed. “Derek has always been a little hot-headed. He gets it from his mother. I needed him incapacitated while I dealt with Scott.”

Finally, Stiles talked himself back around to the beginning of his circle. “Yeah, by flicking his ‘kill everyone I love’ switch.”

“I’m disappointed in you Stiles. Surely, you know a vicious stereotype when you see one. Do wolves have an instinctive urge to kill? No, and neither do we. We’re just…passionate. Some, more than others. If Scott got it in his head that he needed to kill his friends, he didn’t get it from me.”

Annoyed, Stiles pulled out his trump card. “Okay, then how do you explain your stupid, ‘the people closest to you are holding you back’ line? Yeah, that’s right, Scott told me all about it.”

“I meant what I said. Look at him, mooning over a hunter and competing with that Jackson character. Not to mention _you_ , holding his hand like he’s nothing more than a child. He’s far too reliant on you.”

“And not on you,” Stiles snapped.

For once, Peter was quiet.

Stiles drove in silence for a while, thinking about Lydia and whether Jackson’d gotten to her in time. Peter still had his phone.

After a while, Peter seemed to smell how distressed he was, and he sighed. “Don’t feel bad. If she lives, she’ll be incredibly powerful.”

“Yeah, and once a month she’ll go out of her fucking mind and try to tear me apart.” Just like Scott. How was Stiles supposed to teach Lydia to be a werewolf? What if it was different somehow for women?

“Well, it’s not as if you’ll have to teach her control by yourself.”

Was mind reading a secret werewolf skill that Derek hadn’t mentioned?

The place Peter directed Stiles to was a parking garage, and there was a weird moment of calm as they drove around and around, down to the level Peter wanted. As soon as Stiles pulled into the space Peter had pointed at, however, they were back to business. He’d barely gotten out of the car when Peter grabbed onto his dress shirt and yanked him backwards, nearly dragging him toward the same silver car Stiles had hit with his Jeep a week ago.

“Whose car is this?” Stiles asked. If there was one thing he preferred Peter for over Derek, it was that he actually answered all of Stiles’ questions. Then again, Derek had something to lose if people found out what he didn’t want them to know. Peter would just kill Stiles if he didn’t want to answer. Not a comforting thought.

Peter jingled through a couple keys on a ring. One even had pink flower decals over the handle. “It belonged to my nurse.”

Right. Jennifer. The woman that Derek’d knocked out, who’d woken up and run like a bat out of hell as soon as she’d realized Peter was gone. “What happened to your nu—oh my god!”

When the trunk popped open it revealed the redheaded nurse’s body, mottled blue and black, surprisingly not stinking to high heaven, probably because of how cold it still was outside. Her skin looked waxy and unreal, and some sick part of Stiles actually wanted to reach out and touch her, just to make sure she wasn’t made of plastic. There was a tan computer bag tucked under one slightly shriveled arm that Peter lifted like it was nothing to get to. He shoved it into Stiles’ arms, and Stiles clutched at it the same way he normally would his backpack, trying ignore that it’d touched a dead body.

“I got better.” Peter’s voice was tight and furious, for some reason, but this was apparently the one time he didn’t want to expand on what he’d said. He just slammed the trunk shut.

He took the bag back from Stiles and laid it out on the trunk to dig through one of its pockets.

Stiles glanced around. They were two levels underground in a parking garage in the middle of town. “Good luck getting a signal down here.”

Peter pulled out a small lump of plastic and handed it to him. Stiles recognized the shape and antennae and nodded, “Oh, Mi-fi.”

Out came the laptop. “And you’re a Mac guy. Does that go for all werewolves, or just a personal preference?”

The relaxed nonchalance Peter had had in the car was gone now. He just rolled his shoulders and glared at Stiles. “Turn it on. Get connected.”

Scoffing, Stiles stepped forward. “You know, you’re really killing the whole werewolf mystique thing here.”

He pulled up the wireless settings and activated the mobile hotspot, sighing sadly. Werewolves were cool. Stiles knew this. Scott was always doing weird balancing acts and hunting people down through the school like it was nothing. Derek even had that whole grumpy disappear, reappear thing going on. Why couldn’t Peter have found Derek the cool way by like sniffing him out or doing the howl thing?

Stiles wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t know how to get into Scott’s phone account. He’d helped Scott set the damn thing up when he got his new one. Still, as he clicked into the website, he paused.

“What happens after you find Derek?”

Peter was getting more and more agitated. “Don’t _think_ , Stiles! Type!”

“You’re gonna keep killing people, aren’t you?” Stiles took his time scrolling over to the sign in box on the webpage. He couldn’t stand trying to lever Derek’s capture over Peter, but what if it saved lives?

The patronizing drawl of Peter’s voice pissed Stiles off too. “Only the responsible ones.”

Trying to shore up some resolve, Stiles moved his hands from the keyboard. “Look, if I do this, you have to promise to leave Scott out of it.”

Peter took a deep breath. “Do you know why wolves hunt in packs? It’s because their favored prey are too large to be brought down by one wolf alone. I need Derek _and_ Scott. I need _both_ of them. I would’ve been able to add Jackson to those numbers too if he weren’t tainted with wolfsbane. A pack with less than four wolves is considered weak.”

“He’s not gonna help you.”

“Oh, he will, because it’ll save Allison. And _you_ will, because it will save Scott.” His eyes darted to the computer. “Your best friend, whom you know so well, you even have his username and password.”

There was nothing for Stiles to argue with, so he tapped in the username, letting Peter see over his shoulder.

“His username is ‘Allison?’”

Stiles typed in the password.

“His password is _also_ ‘Allison?’”

Stiles held down a snort. “You still want him in your pack?”

Peter rolled his eyes so hard his head went with it and he glared down the path of the drive while Stiles opened up the GPS tracking.

As soon as the map loaded, however, Peter was back to watching the screen.

Stiles nearly choked at the pin that popped up. “What the— _that’s_ where they’re keeping him? At his own house? How did you miss him?”

For a second Peter froze, calculating, then he snapped the laptop closed and shoved it into the bag. “Not at it. Under it. I know exactly where that is.”

A faint sound filtered through the air, catching Peter’s attention. If Stiles didn’t know better, it sounded like Scott had when they’d tried to get him to howl and call Peter out. Then, a second later, a _real_ howl sounded out, even more distant.

Peter looked pissed. “And I’m not the only one.”

“What? What do you mean? Was that Derek?”

“Yes. And Scott. Who’s a bigger idiot than I thought.” Peter unlocked the trunk again and threw in his computer bag.

Stiles kept his face turned away this time as he responded, “What? How? Wolves howl to find their pack, it sounds like a smart idea to me.”

Peter scowled. “Yes. It would be, if there were actually wolves in California. But there aren’t, which means that anyone who knows about werewolves, knows that’s what they just heard. Scott just got Derek to tell all the hunters that he’s trying to escape, and Scott’s going to run right into the middle of it.”

He took a step toward his car and then paused. “Give me your keys.”

Sighing, Stiles handed them over. “Careful, she grinds in second.”

There was a small squeaking sound, and then Peter handed the keys back, bent in half, along with Stiles’ phone, thankfully undamaged. Stiles gaped down at his hand, only looking up again when Peter went back to his car door. “So you’re not going to kill me?”

He was mostly just angry at this point. Confused, because Derek had threatened his life at least ten times the last time they were near each other this long, but Peter, who had _actually_ killed people, didn’t seem bothered by Stiles’ personality in the least. It was slightly unnerving to have a serial killer tolerate him better than most high school students. What did that say about Stiles?

Peter stopped immediately and turned back to Stiles, stepping forward with so much intent Stiles stepped back. He _needed_ to learn not to poke the wolf. “O—okay. I…”

“Don’t you understand yet?” Peter asked. “I’m not the bad guy here.”

“You turn into a giant hairy monster with red eyes that’s been killing people for over a month, and _you’re_ not the bad guy here?”

Peter’s smile was genuine, and that made his words all the more creepy. “I like you, Stiles.”

Gross.

“Since you’ve helped me, I’m going to give you something in return. Do you want the bite?”

Stiles froze. “What?”

Enunciating more clearly and slowly, Peter repeated himself. “Do you want the bite? If it doesn’t kill you—and it could—you’ll become like us.”

Stiles’ mind felt a bike chain that’d popped off its gears. “Like you?” Bloodthirsty? Trying to kill his friends even without a moon to egg him on?

“Yes. A werewolf. Would you like me to draw you a picture?” Peter stepped closer to Stiles. “That first night in the woods, I took Scott because I needed a new pack. It could have easily been you. You’d be every bit as powerful as him. No more standing by his side, watching him become stronger and quicker, more popular. Watching him get the girl. You’d be equals. Maybe more.”

Reaching out slowly, Peter took Stiles’ wrist in that same careful grasp. Just enough for control, not enough to bruise. He held it up next to his face. “Yes, or no?”

Stiles didn’t answer. He couldn’t think. No, he couldn’t _stop_ thinking.

This was what he’d been wondering about since day one. The chance to keep Scott from throwing him around or dismissing him, to stop falling behind in lacrosse and join his best friend on the first line. Lydia _did_ like him, and maybe if he could compete with Jackson on the field, she would like him enough to try dating him. He could stop being the last one to arrive, stop being too late to help. Lydia wouldn’t have gotten hurt if he’d had werewolf speed.

Peter took his hesitation as a yes, and grew out his fangs, tilted his head slowly toward Stiles’ wrist. A fraction of a second before they made contact, Stiles found his answer and yanked his arm back. The most surprising part was probably that Peter let him go. He’d been horribly possessive of Lydia’s body, and there was no reason Peter _had_ to let Stiles go. His strength was incomparable with Stiles’.

But he did. And Stiles kept his hand firmly at his side as he tried to catch his breath. “I don’t wanna be like you.”

He knew how much it sucked to deal with becoming a werewolf. He’d listened to Scott’s screams, and felt the terror of thinking Scott was going to hurt someone. Watched the pain on Scott’s face when he couldn’t control his shift. It wasn’t worth it. It couldn’t be, especially if he ended up as crazed and lost as Peter.

Peter didn’t seem to believe him. “Do you know what I heard just then? Your heart beating slightly faster over the words ‘I don’t want’. You may believe that you’re telling me the truth, but you _are_ lying to yourself. Goodbye, Stiles.”

Stiles took in a breath to argue, to say _something_ , but nothing came out. Instead, he just backed out of the way so Peter could drive off. It wasn’t until the brakelights of Peter’s car disappeared around the corner that Stiles realized he was halfway across town, with no vehicle, and Lydia was in the hospital possibly turning into a werewolf or even dying.

He ran.

When most people say that they ran a long distance, they usually mean they ran as far as they could and then slowed down for a bit. But Stiles…he couldn’t stand having someone he cared about in a hospital. Lydia could be _dying_. Screw his lungs, Stiles sprinted the entire way, letting adrenaline keep him going until he reached the glowing _Emergency_ sign. He stumbled up to the front desk, voice almost nonexistent, and snatched a pen from the holder.

_Lydia Martin_

He scribbled the words hastily on a scrap of paper and shoved it at her, panting and trying to make his body stop burning. The instant a room number was out of her mouth, Stiles was off again, to the elevators this time. The ride up to Lydia’s floor wasn’t reassuring. She was in a private room, the kind they used before the patients were stabilized.

The first person he saw as he pushed into the ward where Lydia was being kept was his dad. Stiles reached for him on instinct, pushing in close to watch over his dad’s shoulder.

Lydia was hooked up to tubes and an IV, still horribly pale, only now in a hospital gown. She looked…she looked like his mom had.

His dad was having none of it. “You know what? It’s good that we’re in a hospital because I’m going to _kill_ you.”

“I’m—I’m sorry, I lost the keys to my Jeep. I had to run all the way here.”

“Stiles, I don’t care!”

Stiles shrunk down into himself. “Is she gonna be okay?”

Deflating a little, his dad glanced back at where Mrs. Martin was stroking Lydia’s forehead. “They don’t know, partially because they don’t know what happened. She lost a lot of blood, but th—there’s something else going on with her.”

Was it the bite? Was she changing already? “What? What do you mean?”

“The doctors say it’s like she’s having an allergic reaction. Her body keeps going into shock.” He was staring at Stiles, dissecting him the way they both did case files, and Stiles could only try to look normal. “Did you see anything? I mean, do you have any idea who or what attacked her?”

This would be so much easier if Stiles could tell his dad. Wouldn’t it? Or would it just put his dad in danger? The Argents didn’t seem to care too much about the law, and Peter wouldn’t hesitate to protect himself or Derek if Noah went after them. No, no way was Stiles losing what little he had left. “No, no, I have no idea.”

“What about Scott?”

Stiles blinked at his dad. “What do you mean? What about him?”

“Did he see anything?”

But Jackson was supposed to tell him what happened. He was supposed to be helping Jackson and Lydia. “What do you—was he not here?”

His dad shook his head, gesturing into the distance. “What are you talking about? I’ve been calling him on his cell phone, I’ve gotten no response.”

Jackson, speak of the douchebag, was standing in front of Lydia’s window, clearly pretending not to hear. When Stiles glanced at him though, he turned and faced Stiles, shrugging his shoulders solemnly. He’d never found Scott in the first place?

“Yeah, you’re not gonna get one.” Because Scott’s phone was sitting in whatever dungeon Derek was being held in.

Another lead lost, Noah scrubbed over his head and stepped toward the exit. “This just doesn’t make sense.”

Stiles caught Jackson’s eye again and glanced over to Lydia, nodding and getting one in return. Here at least, Stiles could trust Jackson. Then, he followed his dad, letting him put a hand on Stiles’ shoulder and lead Stiles out to an empty side hall. “Stiles, listen, just go wait with your friends, alright?”

Ignoring the fac that his dad was still referring to Jackson as a friend, Stiles leaned into his dad’s side. “Dad, tell me. Look, you know it has something to do with Derek.”

Noah balked. “What? I thought you two said you barely knew him.”

Shit. “All right, we might know him a little better than that.” Stiles had completely forgotten Derek was currently a wanted murderer. How was that something he could forget?

A big hand grasped the back of his neck, just like how Peter had dragged him through the parking lot. Leaning in, his dad whispered furiously, “You do realize that I’m elected to this job, right?”

“And if I help you figure this out, you’ll be re-elected. Am I right? Dad, come on.” He didn’t have the time to get his dad drunk now. Stiles just needed his dad to trust him.

After a moment of deliberation, Noah sighed and waved toward Lydia’s door. “You know what? That girl in there has nothing to do with a six-year-old arson case.”

Wait, that wasn’t what the paperwork had said before. “When did you decide it was definitely arson?”

“When we got a key witness, and no, I’m not telling you who it is. But, yeah, we know it’s arson, and it was probably organized by a young woman.”

The easiest way to avoid drawing attention to themselves was to keep moving, so Stiles walked alongside his dad as he asked, “What young woman?” Whoever it was would probably be Peter’s next victim. If they could get to her first and have her arrested, it might save her life _and_ appease Peter. He didn’t know they were reinvestigating the fire. He didn’t know he didn’t need to get revenge anymore, that the police were on his side.

“If I knew that, she’d be in jail.”

They needed to narrow this down. “Was she young then, or is she young now?”

His dad’s phone started ringing and Stiles knew he was running out of time to pull information from his dad. His words got rushed and uninterested. “She’s probably in her late twenties. I gotta grab this call.”

“You don’t know her name?” A fragment of her name, initials, anything.

“No! I don’t—what is this? Twenty questions? All we know is she had a very distinctive,” he tapped at his chest rapidly. “Uh, what do you call it, a pendant.”

What? “What the hell’s a ‘pendant?’”

“Stiles, do you go to school? A pendant, a pendant, it’s a—a necklace! Now, can I answer the phone?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

A woman in her late twenties, who owned a distinctive necklace. The kind of thing that might be an heirloom, that might be passed down to unsuspecting teenage girls dating Stiles’ best friend. Oh shit, how incredibly sick was that?

Stiles took back every mean thing he said or thought about Derek being creepy, or about him overreacting about Scott and Allison’s relationship. About _everything_. Holy fuck. It was like history repeating itself.

Dropping back into the main room to check on Lydia one more time, Stiles debated his options. He knew where Derek was now, or at least an approximation. And Scott was sure to be headed for Derek. And Peter, of course, was headed for both of them. If he could get to Peter first, maybe? He’d said he liked Stiles, what if that meant he would listen? It was worth a try to avoid bringing the entire Argent clan down on them.

He’d barely gotten halfway to the elevators when Jackson came bursting into the hall behind him. The Hugo Boss suit he’d worn to the dance was covered in blood stains and wrinkled all around the collar, but Jackson didn’t look like he cared. “Where are you going?”

“To find Scott.”

“You don’t have a car,” Jackson pointed out, coming up next to him.

Stiles scowled. “I’m aware of that, thank you.”

“Here, I’ll drive. Come on—” Jackson’s arm came up, like he planned to hold Stiles by the neck, the same way he’d been grabbed twice already tonight.

Throwing him off, Stiles stopped and rounded on Jackson. “Look, just because you feel guilty all of a sudden doesn’t make it okay, alright? Half of this is still your fault.”

They’d told him how dangerous it was, to keep his stupid mouth shut, to stop pushing. If he’d just _listened_. Now he’d exposed Scott, putting literally _everyone_ in danger. Lydia was in danger if the Argents found out what’d attacked her.

Jackson barely paused. “Look, I have a car. You don’t. Do you want my help or not?”

Considering his options were this or running all the way out to the preserve… “All right, did you bring the Porsche?”

Nodding his head a little, Jackson pulled out his keys. “Yeah.”

Stiles snatched them up. “Good. I’ll drive.”

If he couldn’t have his Jeep, this would have to do.

He turned back to start walking again and nearly jumped at the sight of not just Mr. Argent, but a couple of his lackeys as well. They didn’t look happy.

“Boys,” he greeted, nonchalant as ever, with that little hint of threat that put Stiles even more on guard. “I was wondering if you could tell me where Scott McCall is.”

Stiles took exactly one second to prepare himself. “Scott McCall? Um…Haven’t seen him since the dance.” It was technically true. Even Peter wouldn’t be able to argue that. “Jackson, you?”

It was so easy, Jackson just needed to agree with him. Just a nod and a “Same here” and they were off the hook. Instead, Jackson floundered hopelessly. “Uh…I…uh…”

“Oh, for the love of God,” Stiles muttered.

As the lackeys grabbed Stiles and Jackson and dragged them toward a set of Surgery doors, Stiles could only gripe mentally about how horribly understaffed this stupid hospital was. Seriously? No one saw that? Not even on the security cameras? What the hell?

Getting thrown into a gurney was unpleasant, and Stiles needed a moment to get his breath back. He flipped around with Jackson beside him and watched Chris slide the top lock of the door in place.

“Let’s try this again. Where is Scott McCall?”

Not waiting to see if this was enough to make Jackson crack, Stiles crossed his arms over his chest and spoke for the both of them, “The answer’s the same. We don’t know.”

If Stiles had to have a preference for who would get grabbed by the front of their shirt and shoved into a chemicals cabinet, he’d have picked Jackson, but tonight was just full of unpleasant surprises. The metal handle on the door dug into his back sharply, promising a new bruise in the near future.

Stiles’ talent for pissing people off felt a little less fun when it involved extremely violent people throwing him at things. Chris was no better, though at least he only had human strength.

As angry as he looked, Chris still sounded like an annoyed dad as he nearly shouted in Stiles’ face. “I’ve kept his secret since he stole that bullet for Derek, but the time for that is _over_. Let me ask you a question, Stiles. Have you ever seen a rabid dog?”

“No, but I could put it on my to-do list if you just let me go.”

With a small shove, Chris did let go of Stiles’ shirt, but he didn’t give him any room to properly get away. “Well, I have. And the only thing I’ve ever been able to compare it to is seeing a friend of mine turn on a full moon. Do you want to know what happened?”

Stiles didn’t need to hear this propaganda. “Not really. No offense to your storytelling skills.”

“He tried to kill me, and I was forced to put a bullet—” Chris jabbed his finger hard into Stiles’ forehead, “in his head. The whole while that he lay there dying, he was still trying to claw his way toward me. Still trying to _kill_ me, like it was the most important thing he could do with his last breath. Can you imagine that?”

What were the chances that Chris’ story was even true, and not some bullshit story he was told as a kid, that they always told to scare people into thinking werewolves were monsters? Stiles knew that there had to have been other options. They could have locked him up, found someone to teach him control, _something_. And just because they couldn’t stop one guy didn’t mean Scott had to die. One point didn’t make a pattern.

But the Argents had way more than one point on their list. They had an entire family.

“No. And it sounds like you need to be a little bit more select—”

Chris’ hands slammed into the cabinet on either side of Stiles’ head. “Did Scott try to kill you on the full moon?” he shouted. “Did you have to lock him up?”

“Yeah, I did! I had to handcuff him to a radiator. Why? Would you prefer I locked him in the basement and burned the whole house down around him?” Stiles hissed the last words out, hoping to make it stick. He knew what they did, and his dad would find out soon enough. They weren’t going to get away with killing Derek and Peter’s family anymore.

But Chris just laughed and actually turned away a little. “I hate to dispel a popular rumor, Stiles, but we never did that.”

Stiles scoffed. “Oh, right. Derek said you guys had a code. I guess no one ever breaks it.”

“Never.”

“What if someone does?”

Chris hesitated and Stiles knew he had him. Even if he hadn’t been in on it, he clearly knew someone was capable. He didn’t make eye contact as he spoke, choosing instead to watch the floor to Stiles’ right. “Someone like who?”

“Your sister.”

It didn’t take any more than that. The instant resignation on Chris’ face was as good as a confession. This time, when he looked at Stiles it was with a pleading gaze. “Where is she? I can stop her.”

Stiles tried to make a deal for the second time that night. “I’ll tell you, if you promise not to hurt Scott or Derek. Leave them out of it, they haven’t done anything wrong.”

Finally, Chris backed off and Stiles could move away from the painful cabinet. Chris pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can’t promise—”

“You promise to leave them out of it, or I don’t tell you. And if you lie, I’ll have the entire sheriff’s department so far up your ass you’ll be able to taste the same bullets you sold them. Now, do we have a deal?”

“ _Fine_.”

“Say it.” Stiles didn’t have a way to test if Chris was lying, so this was the best he could do.

Chris scowled. “Damn it, Stiles. We have a deal, now where the hell is Kate?”

“They’re all going to the house in the Preserve.”

In seconds, Chris and his goons were gone, leaving Jackson leaning against the counter staring after them. Stiles ignored him and spun around, yanking open the cabinet he’d been shoved into. Perfect.

Jackson came up behind him. “What’re you doing?”

Pulling out a familiar-looking bottle and a beaker, Stiles smiled grimly. “I’m not taking any chances this time.”

He managed to get everything set out on the counter before Jackson had apparently recovered from seeing the dark side of Chris Argent.

“Wow, Stilinski, didn’t know you had balls.”

Not in the mood, Stiles squinted at the measurement line in the beaker to be sure he added enough of the isopropyl alcohol and mocked, “Wow, Whittemorre, I always knew you _didn’t_.”

Jackson came over to look at the chemicals, staring hard at the label on the isopropyl alcohol for a little too long. “You know how to do this too?”

“I was paying attention when Lydia did it, now shut up.” Stiles had just finished one bottle, when he realized it wouldn’t be enough. He’d seen Peter’s big, wolf form, and fur or no fur there wasn’t enough here to get the job done.

As he tried not to really think about the fact that he was planning to set a burn victim on fire, Stiles had to shove his way around Jackson to get back at the cabinet. Of course, Jackson wouldn’t have it. He blocked the way, arms outstretched to keep Stiles from reaching around.

“Hey!” he barked. “That fire—that was real? That wasn’t a dream?”

“What the fuck do you mean a dream? It was a living nightmare. Now, I’m trying to prevent another one so just back the hell off!” Stiles stared Jackson down until he shuffled to the side, then grabbed another beaker and two cork tops.

“Stilinski.”

This time, he just ignored Jackson completely.

“Hey, Stilinski.”

Stiles shushed him and shoved the tops on the beakers.

“Mieczysław!”

Stiles’ entire being jerked at the flawless pronunciation of his full name, including the hand that was holding one of the self-igniting molotov cocktails he’d made. He watched it tip toward the floor for less than a millisecond before Jackson’s hand reached out to shove it back onto the counter.

Once he was sure they weren’t about to be lit on fire, Stiles rounded on Jackson. “Shut up! Shut the _fuck_ up. My name is Stiles!”

Jackson glared at him. “No, it’s _not_ , shit-for-brains. You can lie to everyone else, but I know better.” Then, he paused and backed up a step. “Listen, you—you did good, Stilinski, with those…”

“Hunters.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

——————————————————————— 

Kate’s revelation didn’t mean anything good for Derek. She was no longer angry enough to kill him, but that didn’t mean he was let go.

She just left him, still shivering uncontrollably in pain, to the mercy of Baldy. Now that he’d apparently been given the go ahead from Kate, he took his beatings to a whole new level. There wasn’t even anything left for Derek to give up, besides Peter, and Kate was clearly on her way to get Scott to tell her that instead. Derek might wake up from his next loss of consciousness to find Scott hanging next to him, another pet for Kate’s collection.

The power was off on the generator again, allowing Baldy to use his bare fists. Without thick gloves to soften the blows, Derek gave up any hope of having a rib that stayed unbroken. The power in this man was incredible for a human, and he wasn’t even out of breath when he chuckled something about taking a break and left Derek hanging. He was so eager to leave, he actually forgot to turn the power back on, but Derek barely noticed.

One of his ribs had punctured something, and he spent a couple minutes coughing up tiny drops of blood before it healed. Then, the rest of his ribs healed, along with the deep bruises to his abdomen. It was the most healthy he’d been since Kate had ordered the start of the torture, but Derek didn’t dare move. He half expected the generator to just turn on by itself when he got complacent. Instead, he listened hard for Baldy’s return, and tried to ignore the hunger pangs that’d been hiding under other types of pain since the last time he’d been given the most cliche hunk of bread in the world.

It was only because he was listening so hard that he heard Scott, and he knew it was Scott because he’d never heard another werewolf howl so awfully. If Scott was trying to find him by howling, he must not’ve figured out that Derek had his phone.

If Derek howled, Kate would know. She’d come back and probably just kill him outright, if Baldy didn’t get there first. But Scott had given himself away, and once he let Derek go they would probably stand a chance against her.

So, he threw his head back and howled as loud as he could, hoping it would carry far enough from his place underground.

The waiting was worse now, knowing that someone was _supposed_ to be on the way. To pass the time, Derek tried yanking on the shackles around his wrists in hard jolts. The angle was wrong, though, enough to hurt but not enough to break them. They were thick steel, the kind of thing Derek could only imagine was made by other hunters. What else could they be used for that handcuffs couldn’t accomplish, besides containing the supernatural?

Derek recognized the shuffling as soon as it came within hearing distance. Kate’s feet managed to nearly click, even in the dirt, and Baldy’s footfalls were steady and hard, like he was stomping the ground into submission. These were uncoordinated, unsure.

“Here,” Derek said hoarsely, still not quite daring to shout. “I’m in here.”

The footsteps sped up, and soon the door was rolling open. Derek had one last moment of uncertainty. It could be Allison, or another Argent, come to finish him off or take Baldy’s place.

It wasn’t. It was Scott, gaping at him. “Holy shit.”

For the first time in however long Derek had been hooked up, he wasn’t afraid to speak. “Are you going to let me out, or just stand there?”

Scott slammed the door shut and scurried forward, propping one foot on the same ledge as Derek was using to get enough height to grab at the cuff on Derek’s right hand. “I can’t pull it off.”

“Check for a latch or something.”

“Oh, here it is.”

Derek heard the click, and suddenly his right arm was free to fall to his side. It burned, but compared to everything else Derek’d been dealing with, it was nothing. He just gritted his teeth and tried to bend his arm properly, pausing when familiar feet came into the space outside the room. “Scott, someone’s coming.”

Immediately, Scott stepped back and turned around the room. “What do I do?”

“Hide!” With his free hand Derek gestured toward a back corner hidden in shadow. When Scott headed for it, Derek reached up again and grabbed at the two halves of his cuff, holding them in place as nonchalantly as he could. He was still a sitting duck with one arm hooked up like this, but if he could just get Baldy close enough...

This felt different from the other times Baldy had come in, and they both knew it. Baldy even stopped in the doorway and stared at Derek hard for a moment, before grinning. “Looks like I forgot to turn the power on before I left, huh?”

Feeling bold, Derek growled at him.

He closed his eyes as Baldy flicked on the spotlight and opened them again as soon as he’d adjusted.

“Ready to have some more fun?” Baldy asked. He looked down at his fist. “To be honest, my knuckles are kind of hurting. So I brought some help.” He pulled up a baseball bat and wrapped both hands around it. Teasing, he poked it in Derek’s direction. “I need to warn you, I used to play in college.”

As the bat swung out toward Derek’s stomach, he dropped the broken cuff and grabbed it. Nothing felt so sweet as the shock on Baldy’s face when he said, “I brought a little help too.”

Scott jumped up from his place in the corner and came up to the edge of the spotlight. While Baldy’s head was turned, Derek chucked the bat away and slammed his fist in a sharp uppercut to Baldy’s jaw, sending him flying. His body slammed into the wall, and Derek smiled.

Looking less than pleased, Scott stepped forward. “What did you do that for? I could have scared him off!”

“Are you serious?” Derek ignored him and ripped off the patch of wires. His skin had finally healed around the points jabbed into his skin, and the wounds reopened when he pulled them out, but it was worth it. Jangling his still trapped arm, Derek said, “Scott, help me with this.”

“No.” Scott was standing right in front of him.

Derek froze. “What?”

“Not until you tell me how to stop Peter.”

Scowling, Derek pulled on his wrist again. “You really wanna talk about this right now?”

Scott still didn’t budge. “He’s going after Allison and her family. He’s going to kill them.”

Was he suddenly blind? Did he not see that Derek was chained to a grill? “So what?” Derek shouted. They were running out of time.

“So, tell me how to stop him.” Scary calm wasn’t a good look on Scott. He was completely straight-faced, like he knew exactly how much leverage he had over Derek.

Derek kept flicking his eyes back to the hall outside the room, even as he cried, “You can’t! Alright? Now—” he pulled and jangled his chains, wishing they’d just fall off. Desperate, Derek leaned forward as far as he could. “I don’t know when Kate’s coming back, so just get me out of this, right now. Get me out right now!”

Kate was going to come back and find him arguing with Scott, and have exactly what she wanted. She would have them both strung up for Allison’s next training session.

“Promise you’ll help me,” Scott said.

Derek snapped. “You want me to risk my life for your girlfriend, huh? For your stupid little teenage crush that means absolutely _nothing_? You’re not in love, Scott. You’re sixteen years old. You’re a child!”

Scott nodded and didn't make eye contact. “Maybe you’re right,” he muttered. Then, his voice went hard. “But I know something you don’t.”

He began digging in a pocket. “Peter said he didn’t know what he was doing when he killed your sister, right? He lied.” Scott held out a wrinkled piece of paper. The damn form that Laura had gotten in an e-mail almost two months ago. In New York. A picture of a deer that’d been killed and marked with the revenge spiral. “Remember this? This is what brought your sister back to Beacon Hills, right?”

“Where did you get that?”

“My boss told me two months ago someone came into the clinic asking for a copy of this picture. Do you wanna know who it was?” Scott didn’t wait for an answer. “Peter’s nurse. They brought your sister here so that Peter could kill her and become the Alpha, and that’s why you’re going to help me.”

All this time, he’d been trying to forgive Peter, trying to protect him. And Peter had lied. Derek was shaking again, but this time it wasn’t from pain. As Scott turned away, Derek spun over and used his free arm to grip the bar, ripping back with everything he had. Not only did the chain snap, but the cuff fell off like it was a cheap plastic toy.

Derek’s wrist was broken, but he didn’t feel it. When Scott faced him again, Derek nodded shortly. “I’ll help you.”

It’d been a week, according to Scott. A week since Derek had been taken and therefore a week since he’d walked. His knees hurt with each step as he snatched his jacket off the table and tossed Scott his phone. It got worse while they moved through the tunnel, and by the time they were climbing out of the grate hidden in the ground less than a hundred yards from Derek’s house, he was panting. God, he was weak. No real food, barely any water, and no restful sleep. The fact that he’d been healing at all was a miracle.

The woods were quiet, but that didn’t make sense. Derek had broadcasted his location and escape to Kate, so where was she? “Hold on,” he rasped, stumbling to a stop. “Hold on, hold on!” Only the last one had any real air to it, and Scott stopped a few feet ahead. “Something doesn’t feel right.”

“What do you mean?”

A headache was building at the base of Derek’s skull, and he couldn’t remember the last time that had happened without it being the direct result of getting hit there. “I don’t know. It was—it was kind of like it was—”

“No! Don’t say ‘too easy.’ People say ‘too easy’ and bad things happen,” Scott scolded.

Derek rolled his eyes. Bad things were already happening, and should still have been happening. But they weren’t. Which was bad.

Scott huffed at him. “What? Do you think finding you was easy? Getting away from Allison’s dad? None of this has been easy!”

Breathing a little easier, but no less wobbly, Derek gave up. “Fine. You’re right.”

Scott barely had time to sigh, “Thank you.”

Then, an arrow plunged into Derek’s shoulder and knocked him to his knees. Not far enough away, Kate’s voice spoke smoothly. “Now the leg.” Another bolt hit him in the thigh and he fell to his back.

“Flash bolt,” Kate instructed.

Derek couldn’t see who was doing the shooting, but he had a good goddamn guess. “Scott, your eyes!” he shouted, covering his own.

Scott hit the ground as soon as the bolt went off, groaning and covering his eyes far too late. He wasn’t paying any attention to Derek, and instead stared off at Kate and Allison.

The first bolt wasn’t too far in and came free easily, but the one in Derek’s thigh was stuck firm. He snapped off the extra length as best he could, screaming through his teeth until he was able to get to his feet and drag Scott by the back of his jacket toward the house. “Come on, let’s go!”

They barely hit the clearing in front of his porch before Derek shoved Scott ahead of him and pitched forward into the ground. “Scott, go!” He couldn’t run anymore, but at least Scott could get away a little longer.

But Scott didn’t move, he just rolled over onto his back and rubbed at his eyes. “Allison, I can explain.”

“Stop lying, for once stop lying,” Allison ordered. She looked like a real Argent now, right down to the leather and crossbow. Like a tiny, brunette Kate.

“I was gonna tell you the truth at the formal. I was gonna tell you everything,” Scott pleaded.

Meanwhile, Derek was trying to breathe through the pain enough to roll over, get up, do _something_ useful. This wouldn’t hold them off for long.

He barely heard Kate’s voice as she told Allison to shoot Scott, and heard nothing when Kate put a bullet through his lung.

Then, Scott was shaking him, pulling him upright. “Get up! You have to help me save her! You promised!”

Derek reached up and touched where the hole in his shirt was. Kate was too close, it was a through shot, and he was half-healed. A quick glance around the clearing showed Allison and Kate were missing, and now Chris was on the ground, out cold. When had he arrived? He turned to look at the house just in time to hear the number of heartbeats in it drop by one.

Inside, Peter’s voice trembled as he spoke. “I don’t know about you, Allison, but that apology…didn’t sound very sincere.”

They ran in together and flanked Allison on either side. Kate’s body lay at Peter’s feet, throat slashed through. Peter didn’t look surprised to see Derek taking Scott’s side, but Derek could sense his anger and even a little bit of peace through the pack bond they’d been rebuilding. Peter had finally killed Kate, but he still blamed the rest of them as well.

However angry Derek was, Allison had nothing to do with the fire. She was just a kid, like Scott, and she didn’t deserve to die.

Derek’s part in the fight didn’t last long. He got in a few shoves, but none of his reflexes were working at full speed and just staying standing was a problem. There was still an arrow in his leg, and the hole through his chest and back had stopped improving, still oozing blood. It didn’t help that he’d trained with Peter as a kid, so Peter knew his strengths and weaknesses, and didn’t have any qualms about using them to his advantage. Derek kicked him, hard, only to have his head smashed into the rafters, and then he was thrown into Scott. When Derek ran at him, Peter just used the same move as at the hospital and threw him into the wall, where a support beam rendered Derek unconscious.

Once his senses came back, Derek listened to the crackle of flame and imagined he was surrounded by his family, dying in the fire with them. He crawled out to the door in time to see Peter fall down into the leaves as a burnt, blackened, mess. Peter spent six years recovering from his last bout with fire. He wouldn’t recover from this.

Scott was distracted from everything as Derek limped over to his uncle, but when he took a stand above Peter, Scott ran to him. “Wait! You said the cure comes from the one who bit you.”

Derek closed his eyes. He’d known that lie was going to come back to bite him. The whole time he’d been gone, Stiles hadn’t ratted him out?

It was almost meaningless, a myth of a myth of a myth. If Scott killed Peter, it would just turn him into an Alpha, not to mention Derek would have led a sixteen-year-old boy to murder.

“Derek. If you do this I’m dead,” Scott begged. “Her father, her family—What am I supposed to do?”

If Derek _didn’t_ do this, _he_ was dead. Kate was gone and the Argents would get their revenge. Derek was so weak already, it was a wonder Chris hadn’t put him down yet. He _needed_ this. Alpha power was the only way he’d survive whatever was coming next.

Below him, Peter lay stewing in his own body. It was nauseating, but Derek couldn’t look away. This was all he had left…but he had to.

“You’ve…already…decided…” Peter gasped, eyes not even focusing on Derek’s face. When they finally did, they were a dim red. He growled, drowning in his own words. “I can _smell_ it on you!”

Raising one clawed hand, Derek brought it down across Peter’s throat and watched the light fade from his eyes.

The change was immediate, and Derek stood upright, feeling strong for the first time all night. Gone was the fatigue and hunger and aching. He felt _powerful_. Everything turned up higher, impossibly higher, until for a moment he thought he heard an extra heartbeat among the people behind him.

He turned around, taking in his audience. Two Argents, Stiles and that _idiot_ Jackson next to a fancy car, and Scott. Holding back a howl, Derek breathed deep and let power ooze into his words as he said, “ _I’m the Alpha now.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this scene of Peter and Stiles was so _so_ fun. I got to clear up some serious logic holes from the show, and just have fun with two sassy, intelligent characters. Then there was Jackson and Stiles, that was also incredibly fun. Jackson got done so dirty by this show, I wanted to give him actual depth and meaning and it'll be great, even if he does take a bit of a break to visit the UK.  
> Info on Season 2 will be in the end notes of the next chapter, so stay tuned dear readers. This ride is far from over.


	13. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're here! We did it! The end of Season 1 Canon Rewrite! This, my lovelies, is where I make my distinct break from canon. From here on out, I'll still be following the basic plotline, and even using most of the same scenes, but by God it'll be different. So different. You have no idea.  
> All information about the Hiatus (Dun Dun DUUN) will be in the end notes, so for now I'll leave you with my insane gratitude about all the comments and love this fic has gotten, thanks to my Beta [Madeline](https://pan-buck.tumblr.com), and a link to my [tumblr](https://asterekmess.tumblr.com). If there are any changes to my plans for the hiatus, I will let everyone know about them _on tumblr_ , so it really is a good idea to follow me, or at least check my #personal once in a while.  
> I will see you all in the End Notes!

Stiles drove in silence through the woods, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in rapid patterns that only faltered if he thought too hard about them. Even that was too loud.

Everyone had run from the Hale property after Peter’s death like bats out of hell. Chris’d dragged Allison away from Scott and after pulling her necklace over her head, disappeared into the house. He’d come out with dead eyes and led Allison presumably back to wherever he’d hidden his car. Jackson actually gave Scott and Stiles a ride back to the hospital before squealing off. Something about him had spelled serious trouble, but Stiles was too busy trying to make the flames behind his eyelids go away to do anything about it.

Every blink, Peter was spinning in a tornado of fire so bright spots danced in front of Stiles’ eyes. Burning fur and hair stung his nose, and his face felt tight like he’d been standing too close to a bonfire and his skin was angry at him. All that from two half full beakers of chemicals.

He hadn’t _wanted_ to hurt Peter. If he’d been a little faster, gotten there before Peter was completely out of control, he could have explained that the cops knew everything now. That he didn’t need to kill Kate to get justice. Instead, he’d repeated some history himself, playing the part of the arsonist.

There was enough to fuel his nightmares for weeks, but before he could even attempt sleep, he needed to check on Lydia. His dad had texted him to let him know she was going to be “fine,” and the only reason Stiles could think that would be true was if she turned and healed the same way Scott had.

It was a welcome surprise that Scott went with him, sneaking through the hospital and using his super senses to tell them which way was safe. They had to crawl to get into Lydia’s room without anyone seeing them, but it was worth it to see her sleeping almost peacefully, without that horrifying oxygen mask on her face.

Stiles knew he wasn’t supposed to blame himself. That Peter was the one who attacked her, so it was his fault. But Peter was dead, and Stiles didn’t have an outlet for the anger burning in him at seeing someone as strong and independent as Lydia wrapped in rough hospital sheets with a massive bandage across her side.

Peter had only bitten her because he wanted to find Derek. If Stiles had just searched him out like he’d thought of doing, Peter would never have been anywhere near the damn lacrosse field. Nowhere near Lydia.

He couldn’t look when Scott began to peel away the gauze. “Is it completely healed?” he asked, staring hard at a tiny string that’d unraveled from the scratchy wool blanket over Lydia’s legs.

“No, not at all.”

Stiles turned to look and had to push down a gag at the tender, bloody outlines of Peter’s jaws. “I don’t get it, my dad said she’d be fine.”

Scott shook his head. “But the bite’s not healing like it did with me. Which means…she’s not a werewolf.”

The words should have given Stiles some relief that at least one good thing about his life wasn’t going to be put in danger. Lydia didn’t deserve that, she didn’t deserve anything that’d happened.

But the bite was only supposed to do one of two things to humans: make you a werewolf, or kill you. And Lydia was neither. Which begged the question…“Then what the hell is she?”

Stiles shook off his rising anxiety and put the Jeep in park at the edge of the clearing that surrounded the Hale house. He’d never been more grateful his dad kept a spare key in the sheriff’s office, even if he’d had to walk there to get it.

It only took one glance to confirm what he’d already assumed. The hood of the Camaro peeked out from behind the house, and the police tape covering the door had been ripped most of the way down, like the vandal had given up halfway through.

Unlike the last time Stiles was here, he announced himself before he even got to the porch, backpack hanging from one hand and dragging slowly along the ground to make his arrival extra obvious. Not that it was really needed.

“So, I’m pretty sure you could literally hear me coming from a mile away, but I’m hoping you didn’t bail just to avoid my pretty face. Also, kinda hoping you won’t rip said pretty face off for like, encroaching on your territory now.”

There was no response, no jacketed figure stepping out of the shadows to throw bitchfaces at him or make idle threats. Stiles wasn’t sure if it was a good sign or not.

The sound started up as soon as Stiles put a hand on the doorknob. A low rumbling that set his nerve endings on fire with the need to fucking run. Like any other time Stiles felt common sense raising its ugly head, he ignored it and pushed the door open, talking all the while. “Dude, I’m not gonna leave. I thought we already went over the whole death threat thing. Just because you’ve gone subvocal doesn’t mean it’ll work.”

For all his confident words, Stiles had to shove one trembling hand into his pocket as he padded into the house. To his left, the same room Derek had fought Scott in was even more destroyed, with a massive hole ripped through the floor. Stiles took a detour away from the growling toward it.

The smell hit him a few feet away, the same smell that’d made him sneeze like a hundred times in Jackson’s car, prompting a packet of tissues to get chucked at his head. Burned flesh and hair. It only took a glance down into the small pit for Stiles to back up again, right back to the front door.

He should leave, he should really leave because Derek buried his uncle inside the floor of his house. That was some Edgar Allen Poe level shit, and Stiles wasn’t prepared to deal with any of this. He needed to go, to run—

Stiles froze, a hand on the edge of the open door, ready to throw himself down the steps toward his Jeep. Goddammit, how did he not see it before? Peter had done almost the exact opposite to him in the hospital, using just the tone of his voice to make Stiles want to obey him, to come closer. Derek had never done anything like that before now, or if he’d tried it hadn’t worked.

It had to be some kind of animal magnetism, or hypnosis. Like how Scott could apparently Jedi mind control pretty much every canine on the block into a frenzy with just a growl. A growl almost like the one that Stiles could feel vibrating in his chest now, like standing next to a speaker and feeling almost nauseous from the power of the bass.

He was trying to scare Stiles away.

A little shocked by the newfound superpower, Stiles chuckled. “These are not the droids you’re looking for,” he whispered.

Turning on his heel, Stiles pushed his body against the instincts shouting at him and headed up the stairs toward the source of the noise. It was the same place he’d seen Derek disappear to the last time he’d been there.

There was another closed door in his way, but Stiles didn’t try to open it right away. He knew he was pushing his luck about a mile past its limit, and when the growling grew louder, he slowed to a stop a foot away from the threshold.

“Hey man, you know I’m not here to hurt you. I mean, I’ve spent almost as much time lately trying to keep you from getting killed as I have Scott. If murder were on my to-do list, you’d know. I’m not subtle.”

That was the way to do it, right? Stiles had once helped Scott calm down an injured dog at the clinic, way before the werewolf dominance thing became an option, and Scott’d been rambling nonstop. Establish a new baseline for sound, no sudden movements, make yourself part of the environment. He’d said that it doesn’t matter what you say, so long as your tone is calm.

Now, Stiles knew it was more about scent, the chemosignals that Scott was so oblivious to. If Stiles was calm, it would make Derek calm. In theory.

The theory seemed to be working, if the lessening of the growl back to a volume Stiles could breathe through was any indication. Taking his time, Stiles pushed the door open inch by inch. “Now, you just have to promise me you’ll still be wearing clothes. I don’t need any weird feral stuff going on where you decide to run around the Preserve naked or—holy shit.”

Stiles hadn’t seen Derek’s red eyes before. He’d been turned away from Stiles, watching Scott instead as the power shifted into him. Then he’d raced off into the woods when Stiles haphazardly mentioned that someone was sure to come looking eventually. When he’d come back to deal with Peter’s body, Stiles didn’t know, and he mostly didn’t care because holy shit, Derek’s eyes were red.

Those suckers were bright, like brake lights on a car or Christmas lights. There was plenty of moonlight coming in through a shattered window, but it still wasn’t enough to see the rest of Derek’s eyes from where he was curled up in the corner on a mattress. The effect was slightly demonic, just a ring of red in the dark.

“Nice peepers, dude.”

It did nothing to help the serious prey feeling Stiles was getting.

Derek was, in fact, clothed. His usual leather jacket was almost comforting to see in its familiarity. The mouthful of bright white fangs, just barely caught by the moonlight, and the hands tipped in long claws, were less so. Stiles could see a smudge of darkness on Derek’s cheek, and by now he was too deep into this whole supernatural thing to even pretend it was anything but blood. He just had to hope it was some hapless animal, and that he wasn’t about to be next.

Why was he here again? Oh, right, out of the goodness and distrustfulness of his poor, weak, human heart.

“I’m here to see how you’re doing, just checking up on you. Once you can prove that you still have the ability to form words, even if they’re sarcastic, I’ll leave. But not before then. Unless, of course, you try to eat me. Then I will run for my life, and probably end up as puppy chow.” The growl rose a couple decibels, and Stiles cringed. “Shit, yeah, dog jokes are probably not good. Sorry. Listen, can you just turn off the pissy wolf noise and tell me if you’re okay? You’ve been missing for a week.”

To his surprise, the growl really did cut off, and Derek blinked for the first time since Stiles had entered the room. Taking it as encouragement, Stiles crouched down a little. “What, are you surprised I’m worried? Don’t be. I’m a worrier. Look, I have proof.”

He knelt on the creaky wood floor, reassuring himself that if it was likely to collapse, it would have done so under Derek’s significantly heavier form. Pulling his backpack around from where he’d barely been hanging onto it, he unzipped the front pocket and pulled out a little plastic container. “Spare inhaler for Scotty, werewolf or no. When he gets a little too freaked out I make him take a puff. Turns out there’s this whole muscle memory thing that goes with it, and it calms him down almost as well as Allison, if I catch it in time.” He dropped it back in its spot and dug around in another pocket. “Alka seltzer tablets for my dad, you’d be surprised how often I have to refill my stash.”

The next item made Stiles blush, but he pulled it out anyway. “Epinephrine injector. It’s a little out of date, but I did the research and it should still do some good until I get a new one.” He coughed slightly, and stared down at the tube. “It’s for Lydia. She’s allergic to raspberries. I know, right? You’d never think someone as cold blooded as her could have a weakness to anything. She sure as hell didn’t. I remember in fourth grade she got this massive scoop of them with her lunch. She said she refused to let anyone tell her what she could and couldn’t eat, even her own body. It took like two minutes for her to start choking.”

His breath came a little quicker at the memory, and he coughed again. “Anyway. Look, I even have this.” He pulled out the bottle slowly, letting Derek get a look without letting his hand go anywhere near the screw on lid.

The roar was unexpected, but Stiles didn’t move, other than flinching so hard he got a tiny cramp in his ankle. “It’s okay, I promise,” he soothed. “I told you I wasn’t gonna hurt you, and I meant it. Put your stupidly good hearing to work and calm down a little.” To be fair, pulling out a bottle of crushed wolfsbane in front of an Alpha was pretty high on the list of stupid shit he’d done in his life.

He’d done everything he could to keep it safe. A thick plastic bottle that wouldn’t shatter on impact, a screw on lid with a rubber scent guard so it wouldn’t spill or set Scott off. “It’s for you, if you need it, or Scott if he gets shot again. Nordic blue monkshood, just like the bullet. I found it online, paid a lot more than I’m willing to admit, and dried it in my garage until I could grind it up. I was like a legit apothecary for a good week. Hopefully this way we can avoid the possibility of severing any of your limbs.”

Like flicking a switch, Derek’s eyes turned off.

Pushing the bottle back into its spot, Stiles smiled a little in Derek’s direction, careful not to accidentally meet his eyes. “Hey dude, welcome back.”

“I can’t shift back. My anchor…it’s not helping,” Derek rumbled, voice a little too far from human. It still carried the dangerous echo of power that it’d had earlier, that even Scott had shown before. He was staring down at his claws, watching them shrink slightly before popping back to flesh rendering points.

This was actually familiar territory for Stiles. He was werewolf Yoda. “Okay, we can fix that. I know you’re Mister Perfect Control most of the time, but I seriously doubt you were always like that. What did you do before?”

Derek met his eyes, and they flickered red. “Alpha, Beta, Omega.”

“What about it?”

“Alpha, Beta, Omega.” Derek turned his head down again. “Alpha…Beta…Omega.”

Realization crept in, and Stiles crawled forward a little bit in interest. “Oh, is it like a mantra or something? Werewolf meditation?” He paused for a second. “Like your tattoo?”

The symbol on Derek’s back was way too cool for Stiles not to look it up. It was one of those old celtic signs, a triskele that symbolizes equality between three things. Life, death, and rebirth. Spirit, mind, and body. The spiritual world, the physical world, and the heavenly world. It could just as easily be adapted to any concept of three, like Alpha, Beta, and Omega. If it was tied to a way to keep control and Derek had gotten the damn thing tattooed on his body, it was no wonder he had such impeccable restraint.

In getting Derek in touch with his zen, Stiles had all but lost his attention. All he could see now was the top of Derek’s head as he rested his face against his knees, and his hands held out in front of him, claws shrinking and growing rapidly. Stiles was pretty sure he could do a jig at the moment and not be noticed over Derek’s near frantic muttering.

The novelty of an Alpha Derek was wearing off pretty quickly, so Stiles didn’t think twice about scooting across the floor toward the edge of the mattress. “You need to slow down, dude, it’s not gonna help if you don’t relax.”

No response. It was like he wasn’t even there.

Taking a deep breath, Stiles started his own recitation, overlapping Derek’s, but keeping time with his heartbeat. “Alpha…Beta…Omega. Alpha…Beta…Omega.” With his finger, he began to trace a line in the undisturbed dust on the floor, a spiral that swung out, and connected to another spiral, then another.

It was relaxing, repeating the same words, over and over as slowly and smoothly as he could. Stiles didn’t even realize that Derek’s whispers had slowed down to match him until Derek’s hand entered his view of the triskele he’d drawn on the floor, touching the edge of the spiral nearest him.

It was clawless, and when Stiles looked up, Derek’s eyebrows were back, and his fangs were gone. “Feeling better, dude?” he asked.

“Don’t call me dude.”

Stiles snorted a laugh and leaned back on his hands, spreading out his legs to let the feeling come back to them. “I’m gonna take that as a yes. I fucking told Scott I’m a good Yoda.”

Derek furrowed his brows and retreated back to his corner. “What are you doing here, Stiles?”

“Did you not hear my whole explanation about being a worrier? I had to make sure you weren’t dead.” The lie would have been obvious even if Derek couldn’t hear his heart, and Stiles winced. His intentions for coming weren’t quite as compassionate as he would have liked.

Refusing to humor Stiles, even for a minute, the bastard, Derek crossed his arms and glared. He didn’t even need to shift his eyes for Stiles to feel distinctly intimidated and shamed. “Stop acting like you aren’t afraid of me.”

“I’m not scared!” Stiles argued. Goddamn these stupid werewolves and their hearing. “Okay, I’m scared. But I’m not scared of you. Have you not noticed that I came here alone, at like three o’clock in the morning? It’s a pretty big display of trust.”

Huffing, Derek at least uncrossed his arms. When he spoke again, he sounded painfully tired, like Stiles’ dad after a double shift. “Why are you here, Stiles?”

Lying was pointless, and to be honest, Stiles was fucking exhausted, so he just said what he came to say. “I’m here to see if we’re right back where we started, with a rampaging, bloodthirsty Alpha.”

It was Derek’s turn to wince, and Stiles pushed aside his guilt. “Look, I know you don’t wanna talk about this, but we seriously have to. Peter—” Stiles froze at the growl directed his way. “The, uh, the last Alpha we had was as far from good as he could get. All I’m asking is for you do better. It won’t be hard, just don’t go around murdering people and attacking teenagers. That’s literally all it takes.”

After a second of silence, Stiles added, “Your sister was an Alpha…she was your Alpha, for the last six years. I bet she was awesome at it, wasn’t she?”

“Yeah.”

“Well don’t tell me about it.” Stiles kept eye contact when Derek stared at him. He’d been working out how to say this the whole drive to the house. “Seriously. Don’t. Right now, the only experience I have with Alphas is that they are vicious killing machines. I get that it’s gotta hurt, trying to compare yourself to your sister, so I’m not going to make you. As far as I’m concerned, if you stay the same as you were before this, you’ll be an upgrade. You’ll be great, compared to Peter. So, just for a little while, don’t tell me about Laura. At least, not as an Alpha. I mean, you can talk about her as your sister, if you want. It’d probably be good for you, make you less god awful grumpy maybe…It helped me after my mom died.”

God, the amount of talking Stiles had done since arriving was making his throat hurt a little. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation, or coming down from the multiple adrenaline rushes he’d had to deal with in the last eight hours, or because his meds wore off hours ago, or maybe that run through town to the hospital. He should really be getting home before his dad got off his shift at six. What time was it now?

“Stiles.” Derek had looked away, watching something, or maybe nothing, out the window as he barked, “What do you want?”

Now that, Stiles wasn’t sure how Derek knew. What in his chemosignals or heartbeat could possibly give away that there was something else he wanted to say?

He’d already gone this far, he might as well, even if Scott would probably hate him. “Peter said he bit Scott because he needed a pack, that you guys aren’t supposed to be alone.”

“When did he say that?”

“You don’t have a pack either.”

His statement distracted Derek from the fact that Stiles had spent a good half hour with Peter, and he was glad. Derek didn’t need more reasons to be angry at his uncle.

Eventually, Derek bit out, “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

Stiles clambered to his feet. “No, you’re not! Ten minutes ago you couldn’t even shift properly, so would you just listen to me?”

Silence again, with an undercurrent of pissiness that Stiles found both infuriating and reassuring. Before he could second-guess himself, Stiles pushed forward. “Whether or not you like it, you need a pack, or at least somebody. I’m offering.”

In an instant, Derek was on his feet, fangs out again and eyes red. “What did you just say?” It was a warning, clear as day. Derek’s control was clearly frayed to shit, and Stiles already regretted his word choice. 

Backing up quickly over scattered boards, Stiles put his hands out. “I don’t—” He gulped, remembering Peter’s response. “I’m not asking for the bite. I’m just saying…you said there were humans in your pack. I figure I could be one of them, until…well, until whenever. That way you don’t have to be a lone Alpha or anything. You could just chill for a while, until, I don’t know, somebody actually asks for the bite. Or Scott gets his head out of his ass, or you find some other werewolves who are awed by your grumpy aura. I could be, like, probationary or something.”

Derek worked his jaw in a way that showed off his fangs, but he wasn’t looking at Stiles anymore. He was blinking rapidly, and, realizing he might have gotten stuck again, Stiles whispered the mantra a couple times. It worked, and Stiles bit back a grin. “See? I’m already helping. Dude, I’ve never met someone more in need of a friend than you, and there’s kind of slim pickings in this town at the moment. So just, let me help. I’m not saying you have to actually like me. I mean, I sure as hell don’t like you, you’re a dick. I’m just saying you clearly need somebody, and I’ll be that somebody. I volunteer as tribute, or whatever.”

Face back to normal, Derek scowled at him. “You should go, before someone notices you’re missing.”

“My dad’s at work, and Scott’s with Allison. What do you say, Derek?”

“A pack needs at least three Betas. You’re not even a werewolf. Besides, you can’t be a part of two different packs, Stiles, that’s not how it works.”

Stiles shrugged. “Fine. Scott’s not into the whole pack thing anyway. You aren’t going to stop me from being friends with him, are you?”

“Of course not!”

“Good.”

“Fine.”

The elation Stiles felt at winning his argument, even if Derek hadn’t figured it out yet, faded a little as he looked around the room. Derek obviously hadn’t been living here for a while, even with the mattress sitting in the corner. There was nothing to support the general cleanliness and tidy black and grey wardrobe that Derek sported.

As Derek’s unavoidable pack, Stiles felt obligated to say, “You can’t stay here.”

To his surprise, Derek nodded. “I know.”

“But hey, maybe the cops’ll stop looking for you now. You can get a real place.”

“Doesn’t mean the hunters will stop. If you thought a werewolf getting revenge was bad…” Derek growled. He leaned down in a smooth sweep, snatching up Stiles’ still unzipped bag. A couple steps and he shoved it into Stiles’ arms before grabbing him by the back of the neck and turning him toward the door. Stiles had the slightly shocked realization that it was the first time Derek had willingly touched him, without intimidation on the brain or needing to keep Stiles from tripping. “Go home, Stiles. If I need you, I’ll find you.”

In spite of himself, Stiles laughed. “Dude, you sound like my dad. You even have the scruff holding going on.” This was the third time that night he’d been grabbed like that. Did he just give off “I’m incapable of autonomy” signals?

Still, Stiles let himself be pushed out of the room and over to the stairs, noticing how Derek yanked him to one side just in time to keep him from stepping on a wrong-looking patch of flooring.

The voice to his left was completely human. “Your father’s a smart man. This is the easiest way to move around unruly pack members.”

The fingers wrapped around his nape squeezed warningly, but Stiles didn’t even bother hiding his grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to! I HAD TO. We all knew it was missing and it should've fucking been there and I HAD TO. Stiles Stilinski is part of the Hale Pack and NO ONE can convince me otherwise! I have accepted my own rewrite as the new canon from here on out!  
> Now, the hiatus:  
> I know this is a tough time, what with Covid-19 keeping everyone at home and stressed to hell and back. Believe me, I would like nothing more than to starting posting S2 right away. But...I'm not done with it. As I diverge from canon more and more, the amount of fic that I'm making up myself rather than borrowing from canon increases, and my chapters have gotten longer. Much... _much_ longer. (We're at 100k for S2, and I still have four chapters left to write!)  
> Writing is hard, and I'm not the fastest of writers, so I'm giving myself a decent sized break to work on finishing S2 and get far enough into S3 that I won't have to go back and edit anything in S2 to match it. In order to avoid having to do massive rewrites of seasons later on, I need to keep myself ahead of the game and that takes time.  
> I know it's a lot, but I plan to have a three month hiatus between this chapter and when I start posting S2. This is not just a deadline for me, but also a chance for me to get further ahead, so even if I finish early, I'll be waiting to post until the three months are up. For those of you looking for a date, I plan to post the first chapter of S2 on Sat, June 20th, 2020.  
> If you want to get notified the instant the next season is posted, please subscribe to the series itself. Or, if you want notifications when I post _other_ fic that I'm also working on during this time, subscribe to my account. Any questions you have can be left in the comments, or sent to my [tumblr](https://asterekmess.tumblr.com/).  
> This is only the beginning of the journey I plan to take you on with a new (and hopefully improved) Teen Wolf rewrite.


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